by Frost, E J
“No, sir.”
Sounds like she might be receptive to it. The thought of dominating her full-time sends another hot zap through my blood.
“Good girl. Bow your head.” I use a simple, secular grace that I remember my great-grandmother using to bless the table, since I’m not sure about Emily’s religious preferences. When I finish, she lifts her head and watches me with over-bright eyes.
“Sir, may I have permission to eat?”
“Yes, you may.”
She smiles, her lower lip trembling, picks up her utensils and begins cutting up the white slivers of fennel into small bites.
That’s a job I want.
“In future,” I say conversationally, “Daddy will cut up his little girl’s food. And I want to see you chew each bite ten times.”
She puts a bite-sized piece in her mouth, chews carefully and swallows. “Yes, Daddy.”
There it is again, and this time I’ve got her number. I let her eat for a while before I say, “Going back to this fantasy, does the Princess ever accept being his?”
“I haven’t really thought that far. It’s just the early scenes that I’ve thought through when I, uh, when I’ve thought about it.” Her cheeks flare again, brighter than the glowing red that’s banding the sky above our heads.
This is something she’s fantasized about. A hot and dirty rape fantasy. My sweet, filthy baby doll.
“What do you think?” she asks.
I love that she wants my input constructing her fantasy.
“I think that after she’s kidnapped by a rival knight and the Black Knight rescues her, she might realize that he’ll always protect her and she might let herself love him a little.” I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of one of those Excalibur-type movies, but hey, I’m not the author here. “But she might not admit it to him, just to keep him on his toes.”
With a beaming smile, she nods.
“I also think this would be a spectacular fantasy to play out on the cruise,” I tell her. “There’s a medieval-themed dungeon that I can reserve. I bet we’d have a lot of very enthusiastic extras.”
She takes another bite of fennel, chews and swallows. “Assuming I pass tonight’s audition.”
Is she still worried about that? That’s very old news. “Baby doll, I’ve already bought your plane ticket. This isn’t about me being sure. It’s about you being sure.”
Her eyes, dark lashes still spiky with wetness, rise to mine. “If you want me, I’m sure.”
I reach across and pick up her free hand. I bring it to my mouth and nip one of her knuckles hard enough to make her squirm, and then flush wildly from the friction of the seat against her abused ass.
“Be sure, sweetheart.”
Chapter Four
Emily
I’ve lost my mind. I’m well aware of that. I’ve spent less than three hours in this man’s company and I’ve admitted a rape fantasy to him that I’ve never told anyone. In the middle of a busy restaurant, although no one seems to be listening.
And he’s agreed to help me act it out during the kinky cruise he’s taking me on. No, not just agreed to help me act it out. He’s excited about it. He’s planning it. I can see his thoughts moving behind those amazing, dark eyes. When I agreed the Princess should be shackled, I thought he was going to leap out of his chair, throw me over his shoulder and carry me off to fuck me in the bathroom, his eyes went so hot and primal.
I should be afraid.
Of him. He could kill me, toss my body overboard and flee to a non-extradition country all on the same morning.
Of myself. I’m not like this. I don’t open up to people like this, much less tell them my craziest fantasies on the first damn date. One failed marriage, five Doms I couldn’t make it work with, and the guy who wanted a picture of me peeing after a four-minute, speed date have taught me to be careful who I trust. Two rounds of spanking, a toe-curling finger-fuck, and discussing our porn preferences do not earn Logan my trust. Do they? If I add in all the tiny, perfect things he keeps doing like buckling my seat belt and ordering for me and praising me when I least expect it and asking what I like, as though he’s really interested. Do those perfect little things begin to tip the scales in his favor?
They must, because I’m not afraid. Not at all. All I can feel when I’m with Logan is the constant thrum of excitement.
I know what HIM would say, but that voice has been silent since Logan hit me with the hairbrush. What’s the use of an internal monologue if it finally shuts up when I actually need it?
He rewards me for revealing my fantasy with a sip of wine. I’m not sure what he’s ordered, but it tastes nice. It’s rich and fruity with an aftertaste of blackberries. Not at all that chalky, vinegary crap that Ash and his friends used to chortle around between their teeth and exclaim over at thirty-five dollars a bottle.
I mentally add ten calories to the day’s tally for the sip. There are over two hundred calories in a glass of wine, so that’s probably close. I’m still within my fifteen hundred for the day, even with the appetizer, since I only had water and two rice cakes with almond butter on the train down after my usual breakfast of grapefruit and whole grain toast. I wanted to save up enough for tonight. Then along came a gift in the form of tortellini in broth. I’ll be able to have a few bites of his veal, maybe even of his dessert, if he orders one, without going over my fifteen hundred.
I know he realized what I was doing when I checked the calorie content of the tortellini in my diet app. I saw the flicker in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be different from Peter, or DThree, as I think of him, who called me an anorexic head case when he caught me calorie-counting. Right before he threw my phone on my kitchen counter and stormed out. He smashed the screen so badly I had to buy a new phone. What an asshole. God, I hope Logan’s different.
I know Logan isn’t perfect—won’t be perfect—no one is. But he’s been so wonderful so far, I hope it’s a little while before his flaws appear.
There are already a couple of things that unsettle me. He deflected me when I asked if his job was dangerous. He might not have been lying, but he definitely wasn’t telling me the unvarnished truth. Any mention of his long-term sub, Miranda, twists my stomach into knots. It can’t be jealousy, can it? No, I haven’t known Logan long enough to be jealous of his former lovers, but something about the way he talks about her makes me feel like there’s unfinished business there. Then there’s the girl Rick was teasing Logan about in the car: Rachel, a sub they’ve clearly shared. That’s fairly creepy. Is that what this club is all about? Does he plan to share me with Rick, or the other members? I don’t want to be shared. Not by Logan. Matty had other Doms top me and it never bothered me, but with Logan it’s different. I already feel like I want to belong to him, and him sharing me would crush that somehow. And then there’s Rick himself, who I don’t like, even if he is a Dom. He’s a narcissist. I can spot them a mile away now, having been married to one. Too bad it took knowing Ash to develop my narcissist-radar. Why would Logan be friends with a man like that?
But maybe I’m being too judgmental. It probably takes a big ego to be a porn star. My first impression of Daisy wasn’t positive either, but underneath the vinyl, acrylic and Instagram makeup, she’s a warm person, genuinely committed to her own brand of art. Maybe Rick has a heart of gold buried beneath his five-hundred-dollar shirt, too.
Logan certainly does, and it isn’t even buried very deep. I look up at him and find him watching me, smiling his gentle smile. The smile I’m already thinking of as his daddy smile: patient and protective. I smile back at him.
“Sir.” I always start something important with my Dom’s title. That’s something Matthew—DTwo—taught me. Matthew was a sadist, and helped me find my inner masochist, but he wasn’t really a daddy. “How do you know Mr. Errol—uh, is that like a reference to Errol Flynn? Sorry, I just realized. Anyway, how do you know him?”
Logan chuckles. “Here, bite.�
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He holds out his fork with a bite of osso bucco speared on the tines. I take the bite, chew and let the rich veal melt across my tongue.
I swallow after the prescribed number of chews, knowing Logan will be counting and that I’ll be punished if I slip-up. Logan’s pretty serious with the punishments. My ass is still stinging and I would have trouble sitting down if not for the cream. He’s definitely a sadist as well as a Dom. Which totally works for me. Lew and Matthew were both sadists and they rang my bell in the way my other Doms haven’t.
“In answer to your garbled question.” He winks at me. “It’s a stage name, like your pen name. I don’t know Rick well enough to say if he’s an Errol Flynn fan. You could ask him. Don’t feel shy or intimidated around him. As for how I know him, we went to the same high school. He was a year behind me, so I didn’t really know him other than a face in the hallway, but when he needed private security, he recognized my name. He was one of my first clients, and he’s sent a lot of business my way over the years.”
I remember one of Ash’s favorite sayings: you can’t pick your clients. I guess that’s true in Logan’s business, too.
“Oh.” I digest it all for a moment, along with the scrumptious veal and the fact that Logan didn’t take a dig at me about telling him my pen name, despite a golden opportunity. “What exactly is private security?”
Logan shrugs before offering me another bite of osso bucco. “I do a lot of different things for my clients. Bodyguarding. Evaluating their internal security systems. Investigating crimes that they don’t want to take to the police.”
“Why wouldn’t they take a crime to the police?” I ask.
“Sometimes it’s an inside job, and since many of my clients are family businesses, it might even be a family member. I’ve seen that a lot. Sometimes they just don’t want the publicity. I’m always surprised at how much people will pay to hush up a problem.”
Since it keeps him in business—and his business is doing well if his bespoke suit and three-thousand-dollar watch are any indication—I’m guessing he doesn’t object. “So, you’re like a private policeman. Do you carry a gun?”
“I have a concealed carry permit, but, no, I generally don’t carry a gun. Something I’ve noticed? People who carry guns are more likely to get shot at. I prefer not to get shot at if I can avoid it.”
He winks at me. Although I can tell he’s trying to keep it light, I take what he’s saying seriously. Guns make me very nervous and I’m glad he doesn’t carry one.
He pauses to take a sip of wine and I take the opportunity to enjoy my tortellini, savoring each bite. The flavors are meaty and distinct when the pasta’s not smothered in cream, the way tortellini usually is. I offer Logan a bite of my dinner, which he takes and chews thoughtfully.
“That’s really good,” he says. “Better than I expected from seeing it.” He waves at my plate, which I have to admit is unprepossessing: the pasta floating in light brown broth. “Different than mine but really nice. Good choice, baby doll.”
Heat prickles my cheeks at the praise. I blush easily, but never like this. “Thank you, sir.”
Logan takes a bite of his own meal and chases it with another sip of wine, before saying, “I should have asked before, what you want for breakfast? I didn’t get anything in, but there’s a corner store we can stop at on the way back.”
“Oh, no, don’t get anything special. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
I pray it’s not pancakes or bacon and eggs. My train’s tomorrow afternoon, so I can make up the calories at dinner if he’s a big breakfast eater.
“Egg white omelette okay? It’s the house specialty.”
Perfect. “That would be great. I guess you eat a lot of protein.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could snatch them back. Why did I say that? It sounds like I think he’s some meathead weightlifter.
Logan chuckles. “Why, ‘cause I’m so big?”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a grin. “It’s okay, baby doll. I’ll tell you what. Free pass for tonight. I promise not to let anything you say offend me.” His grin turns wicked. “Although I don’t promise not to discipline you for it.”
My face must be fire engine red.
“And, yeah, I eat my share of protein. Not as much as when I was in the Navy. That’s where I bulked up.” He leans over the table and flexes his shoulders for me. I put my hands over my mouth to stifle a giggle. “Tell you something, though. Places you don’t want to be for six months at a time? Stuck in a pressurized tin can with a bunch of two-hundred-pound guys on high protein diets.”
Is he making a Deadpool reference? Whether or not he is, it’s funny. I giggle out loud. I glance around to see if anyone’s noticed, but the noise must have been lost in the restaurant’s hum and buzz, because no one even glances at me.
“Most people think subs are nuclear powered.” He shakes his head. “We never had to turn the reactor on. Purely natural propulsion.”
“Gas power?” I ask, giggling helplessly.
He grins. “I’ve got lots of embarrassing stories, too.”
“Involving natural gas?”
“And other bodily functions. You get to know everyone’s digestive systems extremely well after living with them for six months at close quarters.”
“Gross,” I say, but I’m still giggling at the thought. “Did you like the Navy?”
Logan nods. “The sense of being part of a team, working towards a common goal. One of the officers I served under? Finest man I’ve ever known. More of a father to me than my own. I’ve stayed tight with some of the guys I served with, even though most of us are out now. That’s where I know Manny from. And I got to see a heck of a lot of the world. But the bureaucratic bullshit got in the way of everything, and budget cuts are strangling the military. I prefer the private sector.”
“So, you work for yourself now?”
“Uh-huh. Manny’s my partner, but it’s informal since he has a lot of his own bodyguarding work, and there’s another guy I pull in when I need an I.T. specialist, but mainly it’s just me. I’m self-employed, like you. Only I get out of my pajamas more often.”
I stick my tongue out at him.
He shakes his head at me. “You are going to pay for that cheek, little girl.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I say softly, and watch that wolfy grin light his face before he takes another sip of wine.
We eat in silence for a minute while I mull through what I’ve learned about Logan. I love how easily he makes me laugh. He has none of Rick’s ego, and he’s set my mind at ease about why he works for a porn star. I’m very curious about his job. He sounds like Magnum P.I.
“Do you still work on boats?” I ask. “I mean, is that why you’re going on the cruise?”
“No.” He chuckles. “This is my first cruise. I’ve got a reputation within the lifestyle. That’s where most of my clients come from. This time it happens to be a cruise company. Last month it was a chain of sex clubs in Texas. March, it was a dungeon in Edinburgh—”
“Which one?” I ask. Although I’ve been to Edinburgh several dozen times and have a share in an apartment there, I only know of one dungeon. Well, one kinky dungeon. There are plenty of actual dungeons in Edinburgh.
“I can’t disclose my clients. Sorry. Rick and the cruise line have given me waivers for you, but in general, I’m not going be able to tell you who I’m working for.”
“Oh.” I look down at my few remaining tortellini, feeling squashed. Of course he has to keep his clients confidential. That’s what a P.I. does, right? Still, it stings.
“Hey,” he says softly. I look up at him and find his eyes warm and gentle. “If things go well, we’ll figure something out. Mir was my contractor as well as my sub. She signed a non-disclosure and then I was able to talk freely with her. If it’s something you’d like, maybe after the cruise, we could do something similar.”
> “So you do want me to sign a non-disclosure agreement,” I say coyly, feeling the glow that his warm stare gives me return.
“Yeah, I just don’t have it on my phone.”
I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at him again. Maybe when we know each other better I will. For now, it feels like too much “cheek,” and I don’t want him to think I’m being disrespectful, particularly not when we’re talking about his business.
“What happens when you catch the bad guy?” I ask. “Do you make a citizen’s arrest?”
Logan laughs, a sound that shoots right to my belly and tightens it around all the good food. “No. I turn over what I’ve got to the police and let them handle it.”
“You let them get your man?”
“Or woman. When they get them. Sometimes they don’t. The case isn’t strong enough or they can’t use what I’ve got. The police have to play by different rules. I get results. They have to worry about chain of custody, illegal search and seizure, hearsay. None of that’s an issue for me.”
“So sometimes they get away with it?”
Logan tips his hand from side to side, in a fifty-fifty gesture. He doesn’t talk much with his hands, I’ve noticed. His face is expressive, particularly those amazing eyes, but he doesn’t move the rest of his body. He doesn’t fidget. I get the sense of repose from him. Like a lion, he picks a position to watch from and doesn’t move until he’s ready to pounce.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Not really. The important thing is to solve my client’s problem. That’s why they hire me. Yeah, it’s nice if justice is served, but that’s not really what I’m there for. I have to stay focused on what my client needs.”
Maybe that’s why he’s such a good Dom—and there’s no doubt in my mind that he is a good Dom—he can filter out all the noise and focus just on what he’s doing. I wish I could. My mind’s usually going in fifty directions at once. I’ve disciplined myself to finish novels, mostly because I need to pay my mortgages, but the rest of my life? It’s a buckshot approach to existence. I’ve had a hundred different hobbies, including some crazy ones like axe-throwing and handloom weaving. I’ve read the first few chapters of hundreds of books and then put them down when the next one caught my eye. Poetry and punishment are the two things that hold my attention, but everything else? Oh, look, squirrel.