The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βI really, really wish I could stay another night. Maybeββ
Maybe nothing. Francis canβt be bothered to see Maman under normal circumstances. If I told him I was going away and asked him to take my Tuesday visit, heβd just scoff at me and say something hateful. Thereβs no one I can count on.
βDonβt sweat it, baby doll. Weβve got two whole weeks. You take care of your mum and that way youβre not worrying about her while weβre on the boat.β
I rub my cheek against his shoulder. βThank you, Daddy. Thank you so much for understanding.β
βYouβre welcome, baby doll. I had a mother, too. I wouldnβt have left for two weeks without saying goodbye to her. If I set the alarm for two hours, we can get a little more sleep and still have time for that omelette I promised you before we head to the train station. Shh, now.β
He strokes my hair again, and heβs still stroking it when I drift off.
* * *
Saying goodbye to him is ridiculously painful. Iβll see him again on Wednesday night. Two days.
Thatβs just two days too long.
I should be able to bid him a breezy goodbye, with a heartfelt kiss for such a great first date. Instead, we linger at the gate, as far as Logan can come without a ticket, tangled in each otherβs arms, lost in each otherβs mouths. At the last minute, he lets me go, and I have to race through the gate and down the platform, clutching my phone and my overnight bag and thanking goodness that I wore flats.
My phone pings before I even find my seat. I check it, and smile at his message. Forty-seven hours. Iβm counting down, and will be counting on your sweet ass when I see you on Wednesday.
I wriggle down into my seat while I text him back, feeling the delicious soreness of said part. Iβll be counting, too, sir. Canβt wait. Thank you for the best first date ever.
He sends me back a clapping hand and peach emoji, which have me giggling as I put away my phone and pull out my laptop.
* * *
Nothingβs changed at home. The swimsuits I ordered have arrived, and theyβre cute, even though they make me wish I had more up top and Iβll have to wear the little matching skirt-thing to cover my scars. Logan didnβt ask about them. Every one of my Doms has asked, and I havenβt told any of them the truth.
If Logan asks, I will.
My neighbor, Tammy, who recommended the care home I have my mother in, because her father is there, has put a note through my letterbox the way she does every Monday, asking if she can catch a ride with me. I smile as I scribble, βSure, 9:35,β on the back of the note, the way I do every week, and pop it back through her door. Not letting her down makes up a little for missing a second night with Logan.
Iβm revising that opinion by midnight. The house is ringingly empty. Itβs dark, no matter how many lights I turn on, and cold, despite the warm day. My eight hundred and twenty calorie meal for one tasted like cardboard against the memory of tortellini in brodo. None of my manuscripts are calling to me. Thereβs nothing on TV, despite having five thousand channels. Iβve started three different books and put them down because they failed to hold my attention. Iβm beginning to contemplate watching funny cat videos on YouTubeβthe last stop on my βmy life sucks rotten eggsβ trainβwhen my phone pings.
Itβs a Skype request from βBig Daddy Dom NYC.β
I snigger and flick over to text messages. Some weird guy calling himself Big Daddy Dom NYC is trying to Skype me. What should I do, Daddy?
Loganβs response is instant: Send him a picture of you peeing. That will scare him off.
I giggle and accept the Skype request, then open a video call. βHi, Daddy.β
Thereβs a scraping noise before the video opens on his end. Loganβs face appears, framed by white pillows. Heβs in bed already. βHey, baby doll. You busy?β
I shake my head. Profoundly unbusy.
βThanks for texting me when you got home,β he says. βI always want to know youβre safe.β
Boy, Iβm glad I remembered to do that. βIβm safe. Safe and bored and wishing so badly I could have stayed another night.β
Logan sighs and slides an arm behind his head. His arm muscles bunch under his skin. I remember how that log felt around me, so warm and solid and comforting, and have to swallow a whimper.
βIβm missing you, too, baby doll,β he says. βHow about I talk you to sleep?β
Even though I wouldnβt normally even go to bed for a couple of hours, I nod eagerly. I race upstairs, turning off lights as I go.
βHave you locked your doors, sweetheart?β Logan asks as Iβm dashing upstairs.
Shit. I dash back down, lock the front door, check the back door, and rush back upstairs. I leave the phone on my bed while I pee and brush my teeth in record time; retrieve it as soon as I return to the bedroom. βShould I undress for you, Daddy?β
βUh-huh. Let Daddy see his beautiful girl.β
I take my time wiggling out of my yoga pants, bending all the way over and displaying myself the way I know he likes. His groan of appreciation makes heat flush the parts Iβm pointing at the phone.
βBaby, you got any body lotion?β
βYes, Daddy.β I show him the top of my dresser, where I keep perfumes and lotions and deodorant. βWhat would you like me to smell like?β
βPink bottle.β
Him and his thing for pink.
βPear and magnolia,β I tell him, picking up the Crabtree and Evelyn bottle and waving it at the phone. I hear him take a deep breath, as though he can smell it.
βSmooth it on, all over your skin, start at
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