The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βYou seem very close,β she observes.
She can tell that from two minutes of watching us?
βI watched your cheerleader scene,β she continues. βHeβs a conscientious top and you respond beautifully to him.β
Something ticks over in my mind and I check her wrist. Sheβs wearing blue and white wristbands. Sheβs a Domme? No wonder sheβs not worried about her dress.
βThank you, maβam.β
She smiles, the skin around her deep brown eyes crinkling. βIβm looking forward to watching your flogging, Emily.β
I could get lost in her eyes. Her power is really quiet. Nothing like Loganβs or Niallβs. They wear theirs like winter coats, big and woolly and staticky when you brush up against them. Hers is like quicksand. It sucks you down and swamps you and thereβs no way out.
βTh-thank you, maβam.β
She smiles again before glancing at the knights, breaking the spell. Wow. Just that long moment of eye contact and Iβm quivering and covered in goose bumps. Iβm not even attracted to women, but if she told me to kneel, I totally would. Yikes. I feel sorry for her sub if he ever dares step out of line.
Thinking about kneeling makes me search out Logan in the crowd. Heβs still standing near the barrels of swords, deep in a pow-wow with his knights. Thereβs only a dozen of them by my quick count and I glance around to see where the others went.
Two men are sitting at the table, well away from Vashi and Iβm sure Niall engineered it that way because heβs a good Dom, even though no one will ever be as wonderfully protective as my daddy. One of the men has a collared woman kneeling by his chair, so that means weβre down to ten women, although maybe Shaan counts as one? As I look around, I realize another man has joined the wenches. Heβs not wearing a dress. Heβs barely wearing anything at all: just a pair of teeny, tiny gold shorts that dip all the way down to the root of his dick. His cockβs outlined by the shorts and itβs obvious he has a really big piercing. Double yikes. Heβs talking a million miles an hour to Mikaela and another woman wearing a Pink Pearl bikini. They all have the same yellow, pink, and white wristbands. Maybe that evens the numbers up? I hope so. I really donβt want to see anyone triple-teamed.
All thoughts of numbers, kneeling, and Gabrielaβs quicksand power fly straight out of my head when Logan sets his helmet over his head, grabs a sword out of the barrel, and stalks towards the archway with his sword held high.
βPrincess Amber,β he booms. βIβve slain your father. Everything he owned belongs to me. Yield your castle and Iβll spare you and your ladies.β
Not a chance.
I jump out of the chair and race to block the archway. I stick my hand out as though thatβs somehow going to stop him, which is kind of ridiculous because he could bulldoze me in a single step. But itβs totally something Princess Buttercup would do.
βHold, sodden-witted knave! Where is your proof?β I draw myself up on my toes, as tall as I can go. Loganβs still looking down about six inches at me, and his glower through the cross-shaped opening of the helmet is really impressive. It makes me quake in my non-existent boots, but Princess Amber would show no fear. Sheβs a cast-iron, nuclear-winter iceberg. βMy father is vassal to King Henry and I hold Castle Amber in his name. Sack this place at your peril, addle-pated fool!β
βYeah, what she said!β Spunky Mikaela has jogged up next to me, and the male sub with the outrageous shorts is a step behind her, his arms crossed over his skinny chest.
Logan roars at me. He raises his sword and charges. Behind him, his phalanx of knights follow suit. All of a sudden, there are a dozen men with plastic swords running at me.
With an undignified exclamation, my inner Buttercup totally abandons me, the bitch. βEep!β
βOmigawd, this is Sparta!β Gold-shorts shrieks beside me.
βFlee!β I grab my skirts in one hand and Mikaelaβs in the other and run for it.
Screaming, some with laughter, the wenches bolt in a dozen different directions, penned in by the half-wall. Princess Amberβs castle becomes a sheering pen full of milling, baaing subbies. Neither Gabriela nor Shaan flee. Gabriela crosses her legs and smooths her skirts over her knee while covering what I think is laughter with a finger across her lips. Shaan stays put for a different reason and I wonder as I dart behind my βthroneβ whether Niall knew what was coming and left him tied up for easy retrieval.
Mikaela lands on her knees next to me, laughing so hard she has trouble grabbing the back of the chair in a convincing cower. Iβd be laughing with her except that seeing Logan ignore the archway in favour of vaulting what has to be a four-foot-high wall, still brandishing his sword, is actually kind of terrifying. Gerard Butler has nothing on my daddy. My bloodβs pounding in my ears, louder even than my shrieks, which have risen into the ultrasonic range.
With another roar, Logan scatters the milling subbies between him and me and thunders across the dais.
My inner Buttercup gets a second wind. I bounce to my feet, pointing a finger at my advancing Dom. βFoul villain! Murderous rogue! Scapegrace! Quit my fatherβs castle and leave my ladies in peace!β
βCome here, Princess!β Logan roars, lifting his sword and flexing his biceps.
Shit! There goes Buttercup again, fleeing into the hills. I knew Iβd have been better off channeling Tamar.
I grab my skirts and Mikaelaβs hand again and drag her with me as I scamper away from Logan, hurtling Shaanβs outstretched legs, ending up in front of my throne. Behind me, chaos reigns as knights pour through the archway and grab wenches.
Logan skids to a stop behind my throne and glowers
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