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

“Emily’s overdue for a tickling,” I respond. “Waaay overdue, evidently.”

Javier’s gray gaze sharpens. “Do you need a twelfth man?”

I grin at his cricket reference. “Are you volunteering?”

“I am.”

“If I may,” Jiro interjects. “I know someone else who is overdue for a tickling. A tickle tondo might be in order.”

“Oh, yeah,” Theo chimes in. “I have a volunteer for a tickle tondo, too.” He shoots another evil grin at DirtyGurl. She turns red, and then purple, gripping the table as Theo activates whatever he’s got inside her again with a low buzz.

“Austin, Hunter, either of you want to volunteer for a tickle tondo?” I ask.

“No way,” Hunter says, raising his hands. “Only fingers that touch these tootsies are my own.”

“Wrong,” Ten growls. “You’re in. What about you, Austin?”

Austin’s blush is harder to see against his deep chocolate skin, but it’s there. “I’d, uh, need permission.”

If he’s talking about Dana, that escalated fast. I’ve never known her to exercise control over a house submissive outside a single scene.

“Get on your phone, then,” Ten tells him. “And tell her to take the afternoon off and join us. What’s the point of working for herself if she can’t take time off?”

“Yes, sir,” Austin says, his cheeks darkening.

“Anyone have a problem with blindfolds?” I ask as the waitress starts putting down drinks.

“Nope,” says Theo, presumably speaking for DirtyGurl.

“No problem,” Jiro says.

“I think it might be fun if the ticklees don’t know who is tickling whom,” I explain.

Beside me, Emily quivers in her chair: one little ticklee who is turned on by that idea.

“I, uh, have permission for over my clothes,” Austin says quietly.

“Good. I think we can all agree to that. Over the clothes only for the ticklees. Please give Dana my thanks for letting you participate.”

Austin turns a deeper shade of red, but nods and bends his head over his phone.

When the food arrives, I hand-feed Emily olives and figs from my plate and let her bribe me into exchanging a few bites of her salad for some of the succulent capicola. Theo watches our exchange with amusement, then takes some of the meat from his plate, chews, fishes it out of his mouth, and offers it to DirtyGurl.

“Not a fucking chance,” she says.

“You’ve sucked on my tongue and swallowed my come, how’s this any different?” he asks.

“It just is.”

DirtyGurl pulls a grilled scallop off one of the five skewers on her plate. It’s so delicately cooked, it looks like a marshmallow as she cuts it in half. She holds a piece out on her fork to Emily, who checks with me before taking the bite and chewing ten times with an expression of delight. DirtyGurl’s face mirrors Emily’s. I know DirtyGurl’s submissive, but the way she interacts with Emily, there could be a switch buried under all those tattoos.

“Okay,” Theo says, still holding out the unappealing clump of chewed meat. “You can have an orgasm for each piece you eat.”

“Hard pass,” DirtyGurl responds, before popping the other half of the scallop into her mouth.

“Seriously? You’re mine until midnight. You want to go all that time without an orgasm?”

DirtyGurl shrugs. “Without an orgasm and without having to eat uncooked pig that’s had one too many trips around your molars. Dis-gust-ing.”

She winks at Emily, who giggles.

“It’s cured,” Theo points out.

“It’s masticated,” DirtyGurl responds. “I wouldn’t eat anything that Jason Momoa’s spit out, either, so don’t take it personally.”

“Table vote,” Emily chirps. “Who would eat something Jason Momoa’s spit out?”

Laurel and Hunter raise their hands, while my little giggling monkey raises both hands.

I pick up one of the fig halves from my plate, chew it, take it out of my mouth and hold it to Emily’s lips. “Open.”

She gives DirtyGurl a look of pure mischief before she opens her mouth. When I put the piece of fig on her tongue, she chews ten times and swallows.

“Good girl.” I hold out my fingers and let her lick off the fig’s stickiness.

“How about a ‘good girl’ for every piece you eat?” Theo asks DirtyGurl.

“That was a fig. You’ve eaten all your figs.”

“Christ, woman, you’re a pain in my ass. Logan, loan me a fig?”

“Tenner,” I say.

“What?”

“Tenner. You’re out of figs. I have two left. Supply and demand. You want one of my figs, it’s going to cost you a tenner. Oh, and I don’t want it back, so it’s not a loan.”

“Surrounded by assholes,” Theo growls.

I chuckle and toss one of my figs onto his plate. “Bet you a tenner she still doesn’t eat it.”

“Sucker bet,” DirtyGurl says, laughing.

I win that bet, but not before DirtyGurl teases Theo for another five minutes with a litany of reasons why she can’t eat the partially-chewed fig. He finally tosses the fig onto his plate, grabs her by the dreadlocks, and drags her away from the table. “See you upstairs for the tickle tondo,” he throws back over his shoulder.

I wink at Emily. “Someone’s about to swallow something.”

“Me, Daddy?” she asks hopefully.

“No, not you, little monkey. Unless you’d like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Daddy. Too roasty-toasty today.”

“It is, huh? How about iced tea?”

She wrinkles up her little face at me. “Could I have a milkshake instead as a special treat?”

“I’m sure Kells would whip you up a milkshake,” I say, referring to the Trattoria’s chef. As I wave the waitress over, I ask, “What flavor, sweet girl?”

“Banana if she can put real bananas in it.”

“A banana milkshake with real bananas. No problem.” I draw her to me and kiss her temple before I order for her.

* * *

I give the banana milkshake, which my little girl enjoys nearly as much as this morning’s face-fucking, a while to digest before I encourage everyone upstairs for the scene.

Cappa and Charlotte are staffing the upstairs desk, two pairs of blue eyes rising to me as I usher the tickle tondo participants through the security door. Cappa and Charlotte aren’t related, as far as I know, but with their dark hair, bright-blue eyes, and delicate features, they look like twins. They