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

should have remembered the Oz books my sister devoured when we were kids. Emerald City isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and what was waiting for me behind the curtain was a depressed skull fracture, a two-hour medivac flight from Mexico, major surgery, a four-day hospital stay, and months of physical therapy.

Now I’m stuck with forty-eight thousand in medical bills, a house with too little equity left in it to remortgage, and a family bathroom.

But at least I have the little girl in my bed.

I focus on that as I step into the shower. The important thing is Emily. I’ll miss the house. I’ll miss the City. I’ll miss my club. None of it matters, so long as I have Emily. I can’t let the debt undermine our relationship, and after last night’s Knee Time, I know it’s worrying her.

Time to bite the bullet and call some realtors.

When I hear a noise out of synch with the drumming of the water, I stick my head out of the spray to listen. Hyper-alertness, my physical therapist calls it. I’ve been injured before, seen men die, and survived firefights, but nothing like the intimate violence Jason-the-Murderous-Bastard visited upon me. It’s left a mark. Hendry says my perception of danger will tone down after a few months, but in the meanwhile, I have a hair-trigger.

Emily’s pattering footsteps are easy to recognize. She’s going to use the downstairs toilet. I stick my head back under the spray and smile as I scrub my back with a loofah. Despite the fact I’ve had a lot of me inside much of her, she’s still very shy about her bodily functions. I haven’t worked on breaking down those inhibitions yet because they can be useful. Making a submissive release her bladder or bowels in front of you, at your command, is incredibly powerful. Beyond establishing dominance and control, it creates a bond between Dom and sub that’s hard to break.

I know exactly how hard it is to break that bond. Because, despite the baby girl who has become my whole world, I still have that bond with someone else. Frayed down to a few strands by her lies, but it’s still there.

I tilt my head back and let the hot water sluice over me. I’m going to have to return Miranda’s calls today. I don’t want to. I wish those last few strands would snap and she’d disappear from my life. But that’s not the commitment I made to her as her Dom. And it’s not the commitment I made to her as a man. I chose to have sex with her without a condom; the consequences are my responsibility. Miranda lying about when her IUD was removed doesn’t negate my responsibility.

No matter how much I wish it did.

A soft tap on the bathroom door brings my head out of the drumming water again.

“Daddy? Can I brush my teeth?”

I left the bathroom door ajar so she knew she could come in, but she always asks permission. Good girl. “Sure, baby doll.”

The door creaks open and Emily slips in, her hair a wild mess of curls, her small body drowned in my bathrobe. She smiles and does the cute curtsey thing she does to acknowledge me, before she moves to the sink to brush her teeth. Once she’s gobbed toothpaste on the brush, she shifts to one side, so she doesn’t have her back to me. Respectful girl. I give her a nod and a smile so she knows I’ve noticed.

I finish and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Emily immediately sets down her toothbrush on the counter, wipes her mouth, and kneels next to the sink. She goes into the Nadu position without me having to give her the command, but keeps her head up and parts her lips, offering her mouth. I cross the bathmat to her and cup her chin in my palm, holding her eyes with mine.

“Good girl. I’m proud of you for remembering the rules. I’d rather have your pussy than your mouth this morning. Are you too sore?”

The robe shifts as her thighs squeeze together, and her pupils dilate. “No, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Stand, take off the robe, and kneel on the toilet seat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The speed with which she jumps up and sheds the robe tells me that no matter how sore she is, and she must be at least a little sore, she wants a fucking anyway.

I give it to her, growling with pleasure at her little hisses when I enter her with barely any foreplay and delighting in her whimpers as I accelerate into a hard, fast rhythm, slamming into her from behind as she braces herself against the wall. Before she can adjust to my pace, I squeeze some toothpaste onto my forefinger, push my hand between her thighs, and rub it over the hood of her clit. Emily squeals and shudders, trying to escape the burn, which is a little too much for her. I want her overwhelmed. Burning and aching. I want the sensations to pile on top of her, drown her, sweep her away.

Within minutes, they do. She begs for permission to climax, but I refuse, forcing her to hold out against the breaking wave of sensation while I work in the toothpaste with my fingertip and pound her tender cunt. She’s screaming, tearing at the arm I’ve wrapped around her, before I growl permission and feel her convulse, slamming back against me as her body spasms out of her control. Before she even finishes coming, I drag her off the toilet, grab her hair, and bend her all the way over. Her hands slap the floor tiles as she braces herself. I give her one second to adjust before I’m slamming into her again, jerking her hips against mine. With a strangled scream, she comes again and I give in to the crazed boiling in my balls, adding my own roar to the echoes of her orgasm.

Once I can breathe, and think,