The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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But maybe Iβm being too judgmental. It probably takes a big ego to be a porn star. My first impression of Daisy wasnβt positive either, but underneath the vinyl, acrylic and Instagram makeup, sheβs a warm person, genuinely committed to her own brand of art. Maybe Rick has a heart of gold buried beneath his five-hundred-dollar shirt, too.
Logan certainly does, and it isnβt even buried very deep. I look up at him and find him watching me, smiling his gentle smile. The smile Iβm already thinking of as his daddy smile: patient and protective. I smile back at him.
βSir.β I always start something important with my Domβs title. Thatβs something MatthewβDTwoβtaught me. Matthew was a sadist, and helped me find my inner masochist, but he wasnβt really a daddy. βHow do you know Mr. Errolβuh, is that like a reference to Errol Flynn? Sorry, I just realized. Anyway, how do you know him?β
Logan chuckles. βHere, bite.β
He holds out his fork with a bite of osso bucco speared on the tines. I take the bite, chew and let the rich veal melt across my tongue.
I swallow after the prescribed number of chews, knowing Logan will be counting and that Iβll be punished if I slip-up. Loganβs pretty serious with the punishments. My ass is still stinging and I would have trouble sitting down if not for the cream. Heβs definitely a sadist as well as a Dom. Which totally works for me. Lew and Matthew were both sadists and they rang my bell in the way my other Doms havenβt.
βIn answer to your garbled question.β He winks at me. βItβs a stage name, like your pen name. I donβt know Rick well enough to say if heβs an Errol Flynn fan. You could ask him. Donβt feel shy or intimidated around him. As for how I know him, we went to the same high school. He was a year behind me, so I didnβt really know him other than a face in the hallway, but when he needed private security, he recognized my name. He was one of my first clients, and heβs sent a lot of business my way over the years.β
I remember one of Ashβs favorite sayings: you canβt pick your clients. I guess thatβs true in Loganβs business, too.
βOh.β I digest it all for a moment, along with the scrumptious veal and the fact that Logan didnβt take a dig at me about telling him my pen name, despite a golden opportunity. βWhat exactly is private security?β
Logan shrugs before offering me another bite of osso bucco. βI do a lot of different things for my clients. Bodyguarding. Evaluating their internal security systems. Investigating crimes that they donβt want to take to the police.β
βWhy wouldnβt they take a crime to the police?β I ask.
βSometimes itβs an inside job, and since many of my clients are family businesses, it might even be a family member. Iβve seen that a lot. Sometimes they just donβt want the publicity. Iβm always surprised at how much people will pay to hush up a problem.β
Since it keeps him in businessβand his business is doing well if his bespoke suit and three-thousand-dollar watch are any indicationβIβm guessing he doesnβt object. βSo, youβre like a private policeman. Do you carry a gun?β
βI have a concealed carry permit, but, no, I generally donβt carry a gun. Something Iβve noticed? People who carry guns are more likely to get shot at. I prefer not to get shot at if I can avoid it.β
He winks at me. Although I can tell heβs trying to keep it light, I take what heβs saying seriously. Guns make me very nervous and Iβm glad he doesnβt carry one.
He pauses to take a sip of wine and I take the opportunity to enjoy my tortellini, savoring each bite. The flavors are meaty and distinct when the pastaβs not smothered in cream, the way tortellini usually is. I offer Logan a bite of my dinner, which he takes and chews thoughtfully.
βThatβs really good,β he says. βBetter than I expected from seeing it.β He waves at my plate, which I have to admit is unprepossessing: the pasta floating in light brown broth. βDifferent than mine but really nice. Good choice, baby doll.β
Heat prickles my cheeks at the praise. I blush easily, but never like this. βThank you, sir.β
Logan takes a bite of his own meal and chases it with another sip of wine, before saying, βI should have asked before, what you want for breakfast? I didnβt get anything in, but thereβs a corner store we can stop at on the way back.β
βOh, no, donβt get anything special. Iβll have whatever youβre having.β
I pray itβs not pancakes or bacon and eggs. My trainβs tomorrow afternoon, so I can make up the calories at dinner if heβs a big breakfast eater.
βEgg white omelette okay? Itβs the house specialty.β
Perfect. βThat would be great. I guess you eat a lot of protein.β As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could snatch them back. Why did I say that? It sounds like I think heβs some meathead weightlifter.
Logan chuckles. βWhy, βcause Iβm so big?β
βIβm so sorry. I didnβt mean it like that.β
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a grin. βItβs okay, baby doll. Iβll tell you what. Free pass for tonight. I promise not to let anything you say offend me.β His grin turns wicked. βAlthough I donβt promise not to discipline you for it.β
My face must be fire engine red.
βAnd, yeah, I eat my share of protein. Not as much as when I was in the Navy. Thatβs where
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