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

Or is it his scarily extensive experience? If it’s the latter, that number just got much less horrific.

I towel off and squeeze-dry my hair, which I’ve only rinsed since I didn’t want to take the time to shampoo and condition. Getting back into my sweat-damp uniform has no appeal, so I wrap up in the biggest of the towels, which covers me almost to my knees, and carry my clothes back into his bedroom.

Logan greets me with a smile. He’s put music on. Crazy Town’s “Butterfly,” which I haven’t heard in years, but immediately begin humming. Such a catchy, filthy tune. He’s also put on a bathrobe, which is disappointing because I really, really want to see him naked. But the belted robe accentuates his yummy man-triangle of broad shoulders, lean waist and hips, so it’s not all bad.

“Feel better, baby?”

I nod. “Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to jump in for a minute. Do you need anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When he leaves, I get a view of his backside in the robe, which is much better. The fabric pulls tight across his ass as he walks. Swoon.

I wander around his bedroom, brushing out my damp hair. Other than the armoire full of sex toys and a lot of attachment points on the bed frame, his bedroom is surprisingly normal. The furniture is heavy, dark, and old. The art deco lamps on the night tables on either side of the bed look like antiques, but I can’t see Logan buying them. Are they family heirlooms like the portrait in the hallway? They’re really not him, no more than the granny curtains. Why hasn’t he redecorated? Is it that he didn’t care enough to, or that he’s kept it deliberately as it was as an homage to his parents? Logan doesn’t seem sentimental but I don’t know him very well yet.

What I don’t see, anywhere other than the stupid coconut body wash, is any sign of his former sub. Sure, it’s been six months, but Logan was with Miranda for a long time. It’s hard to scrub someone out of your life when they’ve been part of it for that long. I know. I kept finding bits of Ash in my life for years after the divorce.

I don’t see anything of Miranda—or any other woman—in Logan’s house. No womanly touches. No pictures. No spaces where pictures have been taken down. Whatever Miranda was to him, she didn’t leave her mark on his home. That makes me smile, as does the pair of pink towels folded on the nightstand, and the collection of toys he’s left on top of them.

I’m scrolling through the playlist on his phone, which he’s set in a speaker dock, when he returns, his hair standing in wet spikes and his chin red. I can smell the woodsy spice of his aftershave as he comes up behind me, sweeps my hair over my shoulder and kisses my neck.

“Anything on there you don’t like?” he asks.

His musical tastes are more mainstream than mine, but there’s nothing on his “Music to Fuck Emily To” playlist that I don’t like. LL Cool J’s “Doing It” is on now, and I think he picked it for more than the beat.

“She calls him Daddy,” I observe, referring to the lyrics.

“Yes, she does. But it’s not as cute as when you do it.”

I twist my neck so I can look up at him. “Do you really think it’s cute?”

“I do. Everything I’ve seen of your little so far is adorable. Even the bratty bits. Does your little come out during sex, too? Or is it just during play?”

“During sex if that’s okay with you, sir?”

“It’s very okay with me. Play’s not the only place that’s safe, baby doll. Sex is a safe space, too. When we get to know each other well enough, everywhere will be safe when you’re with me, because I’ll know exactly what you need. Is that something you’d like to work towards?”

Does he even understand what he’s offering? It’s like coming over the final mountain and seeing the Promised Land on the horizon. I pick my jaw up off the floor and manage, “Yes, sir, I’d like that very much.”

I only realize that my eyes have filled when he flicks his thumb under them and wipes away wetness. “Would that be a big thing for you, being little all the time? Have you ever been before?”

“It would be a huge big thing.” Lew wanted me to be little all the time, but it was all too new to me, and giving up that much control terrified me. Since then, it hasn’t even been a possibility. I’ve only been able to be little in scenes.

“We’ll work towards it, then. Lots of good things to come, huh?” He strokes his hand down my face and clasps my throat gently. “We’re going to have so much fun together, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ve already had a great time tonight.”

“Good. I’m glad nothing spoiled it. I really enjoyed our scene and dancing with you was magic.” He strokes my throat. “Do you want to keep playing, or do you want to sleep and play when we wake up? I’m not pushing, sweetheart. There’s no need for us to rush if you’re tired and just want to snuggle and relax.”

I melt all over him and he wipes tears away again. “I’d really like to keep playing, Daddy.”

“Good girl. I’m going to warm you up before we fuck. The first time, I want to fuck face-to-face, so I can see your eyes when I enter you and when you come. Then we’ll do it from behind and play hunt the G-spot. How does that sound?”

Like the gates of the Promised Land have swung open. “Great. Really, really great.”

“Good. Let’s start by getting these nipple clamps off you. I noticed you left them on through your shower. That’s a very good girl. I’m really proud