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

love. I know you’d be whatever I need. But stay focused on my questions. Are you my maid?”

“No, Daddy.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my submissive and my lover and my partner.” He kisses my forehead and his tender gesture and words push the pain even further away. “You do a lot around the house, probably more right now than you should because of my injury, but you are not my maid. Next lie, you’re a doormat because you don’t fight me for your submission. Are you a doormat, Emily?”

“I-I don’t think so, Daddy. I have opinions.”

“You have strong opinions, baby girl. Interesting opinions. You express them respectfully. That doesn’t make you a doormat. You gift me your submission. I don’t treasure it any less because it’s a gift. Fighting my bottoms for their submission, proving over and over that I’m Dom enough for them, exhausted me. You give me peace, Emily. No one else has ever given me that. Do you have any idea how much I value the gift of your submission? How much it means to me?”

I nod. He’s told me over and over how important my submission is to him. I should never have let Miranda’s words make me doubt it. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Next lie, I yo-yo in and out of love. Am I that fucking shallow, little girl?”

I don’t even have to think about that question. “No, Daddy.”

“Thank you for that. I do not fall in love easily. I don’t say those three words carelessly. Yes, I fell fast for you. That doesn’t mean I’m shallow, or fickle. You’re special to me, sweet girl. So special. Nothing matters more than having you in my life. Nothing scares me more than the possibility of losing you.” He stops and I hear him swallow hard. “Of everything Miranda said, I think that hurt the most to hear, Emmy, because if you believed her, if those words drove you away from me, it would be my own bloody fault for not letting you know, every minute of every day, how much you mean to me.”

“Daddy—” There’s that sense of rupture again. Of the rotten egg bursting. It all spills out of me, in huge, ugly, wracking sobs that would throw me forward onto that godawful rail again, except my daddy catches me. His arms close around me and he holds me against his firm chest as I cry and cry and cry.

When I finally run dry, he wipes a cool cloth over my face, pinches it over my nose until I blow, and kisses me before standing me upright again.

“Do we need to keep going, angel?” he asks me gently.

“No, Daddy,” I say. My voice sounds quiet and calm. It echoes my insides.

“Good girl. I think we’re done here, too. I’m going to release your cuffs and then guide you off the horse. If you can’t walk, just tell me. Ten and I will help you to the bed.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

As he starts working on the ropes, I grow light-headed, but not from pain. I’m hollow and floaty, almost like subspace. Subspace is complete mental relaxation. I hurt too much to achieve that right now. This is emotional relaxation. A disgorging of all the hurts, big and small, scoring my heart. It’s ironic that a pain so grinding and dirty could scour me so clean.

I share that thought with Daddy. He takes my freed wrist and presses his lips to it, right over my pulse. I shiver with how good that feels, the first good feeling, other than the cessation of pain, I’ve felt in what seems like forever.

His warm arms around me are another good feeling. He guides me forward, step by shaky step. Four steps and Daddy tells me I’m clear of the horse. I try to bring my legs together, but that makes the pain so much worse that it forces a scream out of me. I hobble, bow-legged, the five steps to the bed and sink down on it, curling onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest, gasping and hiccupping from the pain.

“Emmy, I’ll let you curl up in a minute, but first I need to check you.”

Check my battered privates, he means. I’m really glad I’m still blindfolded, because I do not want to see what my bits look like right now. Raw hamburger, if they look anything like how they feel.

It’s probably the most uncoordinated, unsynchronized movement I’ve ever made, but I hump over onto my back and let my legs fall open with a whimper.

“Good girl.” Daddy’s fingers touch my pussy lips, moving them gently. His fingers feel slick. With blood? I hope not, but I hurt so badly that I should be bleeding.

“I don’t see any splits.” That’s Master Javier’s voice. Cool and unconcerned. Is he examining my privates, too? Great.

“Skin’s not broken, but I don’t like this spot right here.” A light brush over an area on my perineum that still feels like it still has a nail driven into it makes me flinch.

I hear Daddy rummaging around in his bag. Then something cool and slightly tingly smooths over my labia, down over the flat, burning skin of my perineum, and all the way up my crack. The dark world behind my blindfold wavers to gray for a second. A shiver starts from the bruised flesh between my legs and spreads all over me until my teeth chatter in my head.

“Easy, my baby,” Daddy says. His hand curves under my knee and he urges me back over onto my side. When I curl into ball, he spreads something soft over me. My fuzzy. I grab it and pull it tight. The straw presses against my lip again and I take grateful sips of cool water. “That’s it. Good girl. Drink all the water and then you can have some juice.”

I sip, sip, sip until air burbles in the straw. While I’m drinking, Logan takes my blindfold off, instructing me to take my time opening my eyes. The room lights