Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles

by Frost, E J

  I want to help. I don’t have a magic wand but I can share the pain with him. I don’t want to overstep, though, when we’re still just getting to know each other.

  “You sure?” He tilts his head as he looks down at me. His eyes aren’t wolfy. His pupils are tightly contracted. Black points of pain. “It’s ugly, baby doll.”

  Even now, he’s protecting me. I go up on my tiptoes and kiss that warm spot under his jaw. “Yes. If it’s okay with you.”

  “Let me get my laptop. My cabin’s even colder than it was an hour ago. I swear they’re trying to freeze me out, and I don’t think pirate-ice-lolly would be a fun game for you.”

  “Ta, Daddy.”

  I trail him out of the bathroom and sit down on my bed while he moves through the connecting door. He’s carrying himself differently. He’s still military-straight, shoulders squared, but his gut is drawn in so tightly it looks like he’s been on a starvation diet. My poor, wounded daddy. But even in the midst of his hurt, he’s thinking of me, trying to shield me. I know he must have been like this with Miranda. It’s who he is. How could she do this to him?

  He returns in a minute, holding his laptop. He sets it down beside me on the bed and immediately draws me back into his lap. I hug him tightly, giving him the comfort he needs, as I read the open email.

  To: James Madison Logan

  From: Colin Ainsworth-Porter

  Re: Did you knock up my wife?

  Dear Assfucker,

  Please see attached the medical record of my wife, Miranda Porter, dated 3rd September last year, showing the removal of her IUD.

  According to my diary, you were fucking my wife on 29th September, 17th October, 2nd November, 14th November, 23rd November, 3rd December, 11th December, 20th December, 26th December, and 17th January.

  Did you only fuck her in the ass? You’d better pray you did. If the parasite is yours, I’ll drown it in its own amniotic fluid.

  Your humble cuckold,

  Colin Ainsworth-Porter

  Hot tears fill my eyes as my bottom lip starts to tremble.

  Logan catches my chin and lifts my face. “Baby doll, don’t cry. I didn’t show it to you to make you cry.”

  I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him as tight as I can. “I’m crying for you. That’s so awful!”

  Logan forces a humorless chuckle. “Some would say I had that coming.”

  “No, you do not. No one has the right to be so horrible, no matter how angry he is.” If he’s like that with Miranda, I can’t blame her for grasping any parachute out of her marriage, even one with this many holes in it. “Is he really like that? Would he try to hurt the baby?”

  Logan shrugs. “I wouldn’t have thought so. He comes across as reserved in person. But I’ve only met him a handful of times, and without wanting to sound like the world’s biggest cynic, people who seem polite on the surface can be serial killers underneath.”

  “You’ve met him? Wasn’t that kind of weird?”

  “Yes,” Logan admits. “He asked to meet me after I’d been seeing Mir for a few months. He came to New York for a conference and we met up for coffee. That was okay. We didn’t talk about anything real. Just got a feel for each other. He seemed okay, even though we didn’t have anything in common other than Mir. Not even sports. Then he asked to come over to see my dungeon. That was uncomfortable. Showing him the cuffs and chains and floggers that I’d used on his wife was pretty surreal. But I figured he just wanted to make sure I was being safe. I actually thought he was a good husband.”

  Okay, first, that’s too weird. Second, Logan has a dungeon in his house? Why didn’t I get to see it?

  “And he was okay with everything?” I ask. “I mean, after he saw your dungeon, he was okay with you seeing Miranda?”

  Logan reaches over my shoulder to rub the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if this is giving him a headache. I’d be on a one-way trip to Migraine City if I were in his place.

  “It’s funny. He actually thanked me. About six months later, when I was in England on a job, he showed up at my hotel and said he wanted to buy me a drink. Miranda had just left about an hour before, and I was sure he was there to deck me. But I went down and he bought me a drink and thanked me. He said if I hadn’t taken Miranda on, she’d have been dead.”

  Dead? Why? “What did he mean?”

  “She was out of control when we met. She was doing insane things to feel alive. Night diving with sharks. Racing on the Autobahn at a buck forty. Sport fucking at clubs with no safe word. Stupid, dangerous shit. Once I started topping her the crazy stopped. Heavy play gave her what she was missing. She settled and started taking her safety seriously. Colin said it had been the best year of their marriage. He was grateful to me.”

  Weirder and weirder. “So he really was okay with it.”

  “It seemed like it at the time. Some of the things Miranda said after she ended it made me realize she wasn’t truthful with Colin about what we did. What he calls me in the email? I’m pretty sure Miranda told him we were only having anal sex. Which was really fucking far from the truth.” He reaches over and shuts the laptop. “Enough. No more of this now. I don’t want to think about what Miranda’s done, or what Colin’s said, or what the fuck either of them were thinking. This is supposed to be your vacation. I’m not having you spend it on this ugliness.”

  I stroke the back of his neck and cuddle close. He’s protecting me again. “You’ll still let me help with the research, though? Please?”

  “Yes, baby, just not tonight. I had plans for dinner. I don’t want this to fuck up our time together. How about you put on a swimsuit and bring a cover-up and we’ll have a swim and eat at the Lido? Nice and casual. I haven’t even been in the pool yet. Have you?”

  “No, not yet. Thank you for sharing with me.”

  Some guys would have shut me out and left me wondering what I’d done wrong. Not Logan. My daddy communicates with me like no one else ever has.

  “You’re welcome. I wanted you to know, because I’m obviously going to have to deal with this over the next few days. But it’s not going to ruin our time together, Emmy. I won’t let it.”

  I believe him. He sounds in control again. This must have knocked him sideways. But instead of going into a funk, he’s compartmentalizing. Watching him cope with this tells me so much about the way he handles stress. I was impressed with Logan’s maturity before, but I’m doubly impressed now.

  It’s a warning, too, though. I never want to be the thing Logan compartmentalizes.

  * * *

  After a swim and a play in the pool, Logan towels me off, holding me between his knees and making me feel wonderfully little. Before we began playing, I tried to stay in adult headspace, in case he wanted to talk more about Miranda, but when he started to relax, I let myself go. We played sharks-and-minnows and splash-Daddy and I can’t remember when I’ve had more fun in the water.

  Once he’s pressed the water out of my hair, he sits me in front of him on the lounger while I show him how I brush it.

  “Do you always start at the ends?” he asks, watching my strokes.

  “Uh-huh. Otherwise it’s super-owie.”

  He chuckles. I look over my shoulder at him and find him smiling his daddy smile at me. His pupils are back to normal size, and the corners of his eyes are crinkled with happy lines. I offer him the brush. When he takes it and begins brushing, I draw my hair over my shoulder so he can keep brushing while I sit back in his lap, cuddled up to his chest.

  “Gorgeous,” he says, lifting up a hank and applying the brush, starting at the tips. I’m sure my hair doesn’t look gorgeous at the moment, damp and tangled, but when he gets it brushed out, it might. “You know, I’ve always preferred brunettes.”

  If he prefers brunettes, why was he with Miranda? I’m assuming she’s blonde and blue-eyed, given his Aryan comment. But that’s not a question for right now, when Logan doesn’t want to think about her. I keep things light and little by teasing, “Doe
s this mean I can’t I dye my hair pink? It’s my daddy’s favorite color.”

  “Absolutely not. In fact, if you even cut an inch off without my permission, it’s going to be a lot of smacky-bottoms for you, little girl.”

  I giggle. “Yes, Sir.”

  “In fact, I’m pretty sure I owe you a bare-bottomed spanking for watching bad movies. And ten with Belphegor who’s very upset about his name.”

  That tickles more giggles out of me. “That’s a lot of punishment for one little bottom.”

  “It is,” he agrees. “We’ll save it for tomorrow morning. After this morning, I’m a convert to morning paddlings. We’re going to make those a regular thing.”

  I tilt my head so I can see his face. He’s smiling his wolfy smile. It’s so good to see it again. Heat shoots through me all the way down to my toes. “That’s why Belphegor is your favorite paddle, isn’t it? Because it’s a wolfy paddle and you’re a wolfy-daddy.”

  “That must be it. Nothing to do with the way it feels in my hand or the marks it leaves on pretty baby skin.” He kisses my temple and finishes brushing out my hair. “Ready for dinner?”

  “Yes, Sir.” He won’t be ordering for me, since the Lido restaurant is a buffet, which makes me a little sad. But I’ll still have to ask permission to eat, and I’m sure he’ll cut up my food, which will keep me feeling little. When he hands me the brush, I twist around on the lounger, wrap my arms around him and give him a huge hug. “Ta very much. Ta for being the best daddy in the world.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Thank you for letting me be your daddy—” He breaks off and takes a deep breath, hugging me hard. “This has not been the easiest week. Being with you has made it bearable. I don’t want to talk about Miranda right now, but if you hadn’t been there this afternoon, I don’t know what I would have done. I felt like I was going to explode.”

  I huggle into him until I feel him relax. I nuzzle into his neck, which smells like chlorine, rather than his usual spice and musk.

  “Dinner now?” I ask. “I’m ready to eat all the things.”

  And I am. My stomach’s growling, and I could eat a hundred peanut-butter-and-marshmallow-fluff sandwiches. My secret little food. I can’t have them on the cruise, but when we get back to New York, I’ll mention them to Logan and maybe he’ll let me have them as a special treat when I’m a super-good girl, the way Lew did.

  “You are, huh? All the things. We’ll see about that. Where’s your cover-up?”

  I fish it out of my bag and hand it to him. He drops it over my head and helps me find the armholes. I wiggle in it, feeling snuggly and happy and very little. Logan tickles my ribs, grinning. I bat at his hands. “Sir!”

  “Daddy,” he corrects me.

  “Really?”

  I would love to call him Daddy all the time but I don’t want to embarrass him in public.

  He nods. “On the boat and in my club, yes. Other places, we’ll play it by ear.”

  I give him a big hug. “Ta, Daddy.”

  “I’ve had a great time playing with you today, Emmy. I love seeing you let your little out. I want you to do it as much as possible. I just have to make sure it’s safe for you.”

  Being with him makes me feel safe. “Ta, Daddy. Ta so very much.”

  He gives me another kiss before taking my hand and leading me into the buffet. He carries my tray as we move through the serving lines, approving my choice of pan-seared grouper with mango salsa and grilled veggies with a nod and a smile. At his direction, I pick up two bowls of white Gazpacho and put them on the trays. I see Logan check the board next to the fish station. What he’s looking at becomes clear when he goes to the dessert station after getting himself Mongolian barbecue. “Crème brûlée or tropical fruit tart?” he asks me.

  Either will take me over my fifteen hundred for the day, and he must know that. “Crème brûlée,” I say finally, twisting my hands together and wishing beyond anything he wasn’t asking me to make this choice.

  He nods at two plates and I put them on the trays. I trail after him as he heads towards a window booth, feeling my heart sink. He nods me into the booth before sliding in beside me.

  “Daddy,” I begin, my voice small. I don’t want to start a fight when he’s already had such a terrible, very bad day, but I don’t want to overeat, either.

  “I did some research while you were napping,” he says, as he opens my napkin and places it across my lap. “Between the treadmill and the scenes and the sex, you’ve burned at least an additional hundred and fifty calories today. Probably more. I think that’s why you crashed this afternoon, sweetie. I want you to make up those calories.”

  He’s not arguing with me about calorie-counting? He’s just asking me to make up the extra I’ve burned? It has been a big day. Relief rushes through me and my stomach growls at the thought of the creamy-crunchy crème brûlée.

  “Okay, Daddy. Thank you for taking care of me. Ta very much.”

  He takes my hand and bows his head. Once he’s said grace, I ask for permission to eat.

  He kisses my temple. “You may, good girl.”

  I pick up my spoon and start on the soup, which tastes all the better in the warm glow of his care and praise.

  “Has anyone tried to take advantage of your little?” he asks while we’re eating.

  “Taken advantage how?”

  “Asking you to do things that you wouldn’t have done if you’d been thinking big?”

  I consider his question. “Kind of. Someone tried to renegotiate blood play in the middle of a scene once.”

  That was Gavin, DFive, who had a fixation with what he called my v-card. He wanted blood to simulate deflowering me. I wouldn’t have minded role-playing the loss of my virginity. Since the actual event was wholly unmemorable, it would have been nice to have a good scene to remember instead. But smearing blood all over my labia and thighs while we were having sex? Like I don’t see enough of that during a certain time of the month? Hard no.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Gross. Blood is icky, whether I’m little or big.”

  Logan chuckles. “Good girl. I wouldn’t ever leave you alone while you were in littlespace, but I like knowing that you can set limits when you’re little.”

  “I can set limits, but—” I swing my feet under the booth while I consider how to explain. Negotiating when I’m little is really hard. “I’m better at setting limits when I’m thinking big and then following them when I’m little.”

  “Your little likes having rules to follow,” Logan says, an observation rather than a question.

  “Boundaries make me feel safe. It’s a big, scary world, Daddy.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s why I asked if anyone had tried to take advantage of you. I don’t like thinking of you out there being little in the big, scary world.”

  “I can’t be. Too dangerous. That’s why I’ve always limited it to scenes.”

  “Would you like to try to take it beyond scenes? If I can make it safe for you?”

  At my enthusiastic nod, he smiles and asks, “When you think about taking it beyond scenes, what do you imagine?”

  “I think about Daddy taking me to the park, holding my hand as we cross the street, and pushing me on the swings.”

  Logan grins. “We can definitely do that.”

  “What do you like to do with your subs outside of scenes?” I ask, still nervous about all the one-way traffic in our conversations.

  “The usual date things. Dinner, movies, dancing. Plus there’s a shibari group I used to take my bottoms to. Have you ever tried shibari?”

  I shake my head. “I’d like to, though. I love being restrained.”

  Logan’s grin goes wide and wicked. “I noticed. I think we could have lots of fun with shibari. I’m not a master rigger, but I enjoy the basics, and I love suspension. Have you ever been suspended?”

  “No, Daddy, but I’d like to try it.”

  I’d like to tr
y anything that makes him grin that wolfy grin.

  “Good girl. We will. Any concerns about being in littlespace while you’re bound and suspended? Would your little be frightened?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve never had a problem being restrained when I’m little. Being tied up or cuffed feels safe, actually.”

  “Good. A lot of bottoms describe shibari that way. The rope makes them feel safe, like being wrapped in a comforting blanket. I hope you feel that way, but, if not, just tell me. I don’t ever want to frighten your little again.”

  During our first date, he frightened me for real when I was in littlespace. I think it traumatized him more than me. “Ta, Daddy.”

  He frowns and I can almost see him thinking. “Anything else scare you when you’re little?”

  “Big, barky dogs,” I tell him, between bites of tangy, crisp fish. Is it just because we’re on vacation that the food tastes so good? Fish is definitely not this tasty in Syracuse. “But they scare me when I’m big, too.”

  Logan smiles gently. “We’ll avoid big dogs.”

  “Being left alone in the dark,” I admit hesitantly. I know Logan’s different; he won’t use my fears against me the way some of my Doms have. But some very small part of me still screams in protest every time I hand him something he could use to hurt me. “I’m okay being blindfolded, though.”

  “I noticed you tracking my movements when you were blindfolded during the scene,” he says.

  “I’m okay as long as I know you’re there. Being left alone turns my head inside out.”

  “Do you start having bad thoughts?”

  I nod. “Lots and lots.”

  “Are bad thoughts scene-killers?”

  Wow. None of my other Doms ever figured that out.

  “I don’t usually have bad thoughts during scenes. I mean, scenes get me out of my head. But if things go wrong and the bad thoughts crowd in—” I shake my head. “It’s really hard for me to come back from that and I’ve never been able to get back into littlespace.”