The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βThis is what I want you to do,β Logan continues. βYou stick to the plan. Manny will pick you up at Penn Station and take you to my place. Heβll show you how to get in and out. Iβve ordered dinner for you. Itβll be delivered at quarter to nine. Itβs already paid for. I want you to sleep in my bed, where I know youβre safe. Iβve booked a taxi to take you to the airport tomorrow. You take the flight as scheduled and Iβll pick you up at LAX. Iβm sorry youβll have to fly aloneββ
βDonβt be,β I breathe. Heβs not leaving me behind, and heβs made all these arrangements for me. My heart feels so full in my chest it should burst out like an alien, only thatβs not very romantic. βIβll write and nap on the plane, I promise. Oh, Daddy, thank you for not leaving me behind.β
βLeave you behind? That wasnβt ever an option. I canβt wait to see you, baby doll. I miss you like fuck.β
I giggle. βI miss you, too, Daddy.β
βGood girl, Emmy, good girl. Iβll see you tomorrow night, huh? Iβll find somewhere nice for us to have dinner. Sushi sound good? Iβll find us some sushi and then weβll take a walk down Hollywood Boulevard. See the stars, okay?β
βYes, sir. Please donβt worry about me. Iβll do everything just as youβve said.β
βYouβll be okay, right? I know this is a last-minute change, but I donβt want you reading anything into it, baby doll. No dark thoughts, okay? If you have any dark thoughts, you call me right away.β
Heβs worried about me? Thatβs the last thing he should be worried about. And other than some snips while I was trying on clothes, HIMβs been pretty quiet since I got home.
βPlease donβt worry about me, Daddy. If I have any dark thoughts, Iβll call you. But I promise Iβll be fine.β
βOkay, good girl. Iβll see you soon, huh? Just a little later than planned.β
βYes, Daddy. Iβll see you tomorrow night.β
βSee you then, sweetheart. Iβm going to text you Mannyβs number, just in case. Any problems, call me straight away.β
βI will, Daddy.β
The text with Mannyβs number pings up on my screen a second after we hang up. I save it as a new contact, and while Iβve got my phone out, change Loganβs contact name to Big Daddy Dom NYC, which makes me smile despite the change of plans.
* * *
Sleeping in his bed without him is a little lonely, but his bed really is very cozy. I tuck a pillow behind my back and pretend itβs him spooning me. His sandalwood scent on the sheets soothes me. My bellyβs full of the wonderful steak fajitas he had delivered for me. I sleep for nine hours without a single nightmare.
When I wake, my phone is full of messages from him. He always texts in full sentences, with punctuation. Iβd adore him for that alone, without all the sex and kinkery.
Are you sleeping in my bed, baby doll? I wish I was there.
Iβm thinking about you naked in my bed. Are the sheets brushing your skin? Are your nipples hard? Are you awake?
You must be sleeping. I should be. Time difference is messing me up. I canβt wait to see you. Sushi might have to wait. Someone I need to eat out first.
Are you up? Did you sleep OK?
Are you still sleeping, baby? Thereβs breakfast in the fridge. Grapefruit and the bread you like for toast.
Going to have breakfast with client. Text me when you get up. I want to know youβre OK.
I tap the screen to bring up the keypad and text him. Iβm awake. I love your bed. I slept for 9 hrs. Feel great. Iβll have breakfast. Canβt wait to see you, Daddy.
I expect it to be several hours before he texts me back, but the phone chimes as Iβm getting dressed.
Back at you, baby girl. Iβll call you after Iβm done. You need phone sex.
I get phone sex? My heart, and my ovaries, leap. He said no masturbation until I was back in his bed, but, of course, I slept in his bed last night. I just did it without him. If that gets me phone sex, it was totally worth sleeping alone.
I abandon dressing, wrap myself in his huge terrycloth robe and take my phone with me down to the kitchen. I cut up the grapefruit and toast the Batemanβs Stone Ground heβs found for me and put the rest of the loaf in the freezer so it doesnβt spoil while weβre away. I arrange my breakfast on the table overlooking the garden, take a picture of it and send it to him. Iβm eating breakfast overlooking your garden. Love your view.
Iβm finishing my grapefruit when my phone pings. When I tap it, a panorama of downtown Los Angeles opens on the screen, the skyscrapers gleaming in the hard, red morning light. This is my view. Needs you in it.
How does he always say the perfect thing?
I rub my fingertip back and forth over the picture heβs sent me while I eat my toast. Why a picture of the Los Angeles skyline should make me feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy inside, I have no idea. Probably the same reason sitting in Loganβs bathrobe, which has the same warm sandalwood scent as his sheets and the spot under his jaw, eating the bread he must have gone to a specialty grocer to find for me, has silenced HIM, which should be screaming by now. After a long rant about my stupidity in going on a two-week cruise with a man Iβve known for less than a week on the
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