by Frost, E J
“You promise, huh?”
“Promise.” I hold up my pinkie and he releases the back of my neck to pinkie-shake. I lift my head enough to look into his face. He’s flushed after his orgasm, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, but also a little bloodshot. My beautiful, suffering daddy.
He sighs and tucks my face back into his neck. “She goes tomorrow. I have to keep focused on that. Not even twenty-four hours and she’s gone. Neither of us has to see or speak to her again.”
If Logan gets custody, I somehow doubt our lives will be Miranda-free. That’s a depressing thought, because I’m looking forward to the minute she gets on the plane just as much as Logan is. Still, it will only make him feel worse than he already does to point that out.
“It’s just a couple more hours. No throttling, Daddy.”
He chuckles and guides my head back so he can kiss me. “Thanks for the reminder, sweetie.”
* * *
Someone’s screaming. It can’t be me, because I can’t draw enough air into my crushed lungs to scream. Or push out enough air through my pulverized larynx. Maybe the screams are coming from the elephant that’s stomping all over me, the huge, rough plates of its feet cracking my bones, grinding my flesh to mush.
“Emmy, baby girl, wake up.”
The ringmaster speaks to me in Daddy’s voice. He points again at the Hula-Hoop that I was trying to get the elephant to jump through before it turned on me, glared at me with familiar blue eyes, and started trampling me.
The elephant trumpets, or screams, and I jolt upright.
“It’s okay, little love. Daddy’s right here. I’ve got you.” Daddy’s hard arms close around me. His big, warm palm smooths my hair. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Did you have a bad dream?”
I nod into his shoulder. Such a bad dream. So vivid and real I could hear the crack of each bone, smell the hot copper of my blood mixing with the straw of the ring.
“Tell me all about it,” Logan says.
“I was in the circus. I was supposed to make the animals jump through a Hula-Hoop, like the tigers do?”
“Uh-huh,” Daddy says soothingly.
“The animals kept getting bigger and bigger. First it was a pig and then a horse and then a lion. They all jumped through. Then the elephant came. I could see it couldn’t fit through the it and I asked the ringmaster for a bigger hoop, but he shook his head and pointed at the elephant. I tried to hold the hoop up so it could jump through. The elephant put its foot through the hoop, but it couldn’t fit any more and that made the elephant really angry and it trampled me.”
Logan rocks me. “I’m sorry, sweetie. That sounds very scary.”
I rub my face against his shoulder and sniffle back some tears. “The elephant had blue eyes, Daddy.”
“Ah.” He rubs my back. “I get it. It was just a dream, little girl. Just a dream.”
“Bad dream.”
“Yes, a very bad dream, but it’s all over now. No more elephant. And the blue-eyed monster will be gone tomorrow.”
Not soon enough. “Can I suck my thumb?”
“Of course, you can, baby girl. But Daddy’s going to help you get back to sleep.”
“He is?” I ask around my thumb.
“Certainly is.”
He cuddles me until I stop sniffling, then fucks me into a coma.
* * *
When I wake again, my throat is sore and my eyes are gritty, and I have a strange hankering for lemon and butter crepes.
When I was six, my father went on a business trip to California. He never came back. He called a few times but didn’t speak to me or my brother. Maman would curl up in bed and cry after his phone calls. As the days turned to weeks, she stopped getting out of bed. The money ran out and then the food ran out and still she huddled under the sweat-sour covers and refused to move.
Going to bed hungry, waking up to another day of trying to stretch the free meals my brother and I got at school each day to feed all three of us, I developed night terrors. I’d scream and scream in my sleep, but neither Maman nor Francis could wake me. When I finally did wake, I’d cry all the rest of the night, until Maman took me into her musty-smelling bed where I would fall back to sleep. In the mornings, she’d make lemon and butter crepes, because the ingredients cost pennies. Even after she finally got out of bed and got a job, she’d still make me lemon and butter crepes on the mornings after I had night terrors.
I grew out of the night terrors eventually, but I guess I didn’t outgrow my taste for lemon and butter crepes.
I roll over to look at the other side of the bed. Logan’s already up. He gets up before me most mornings. I check the clock. He’ll still be exercising. There’s time for the crepe batter to rest.
I pull on a shorty sleep set and scamper downstairs to mix the batter.
Sable’s left me three “gifts” on the kitchen floor near his bowl. I think they might have been crickets. Ugh. I swallow back my revulsion and praise my mighty hunter and put some tuna in his bowl so he knows how proud his human is of him. Then I tidy up the bits and scrub the floor before Daddy sees and loses his appetite.
Logan comes upstairs while I’m grating lemon zest and kitchen-dancing to Men Without Hats’ “Safety Dance.” Daddy’s sweaty but smiling. He folds me into his damp chest and kisses the top of my head.
“Good morning, little love.”
“Good morning, Daddy. Can I worship you?”
“Mmm, thank you, sweetie, but I want my little girl’s pussy instead. And I want it in a bed.”
“Do you want it in a house? Do you want it with a mouse?”
He bursts out laughing. “Dr. Seuss?”
“Sorry, Daddy, you were rhyming and it set me off. Is it too creepy?”
“No, baby girl. Mmm. What are you making? It smells wonderful. Doesn’t look like green eggs and ham, though.”
That gets me giggling. “Lemon and butter crepes. Maman used to make them for me after I had a nightmare.”
“That’s . . . I’m glad you have that memory of her.”
I know Logan doesn’t think much of my mother. That’s fair. She was kind of tough to have as a mother. But I still feel some lingering sense of loyalty to her. “She wasn’t all bad, Daddy.”
“Hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced as he kisses the top of my head. “Let me get washed up and I’ll set the table. No doing it while I’m in the loo, little girl.”
“No, Daddy.”
I don’t need to do it while he’s in the bathroom since I already did it before I began grating the lemon zest. He’ll see that for himself in a minute, since he always makes a loop through the kitchen to check the back yard before he goes upstairs. I doubt he even does it consciously. That’s just my daddy. Protective. Decent. Wonderful.
“Daddy, about last night.”
“Mmm?” He stiffens a little but keeps cuddling me against his chest.
“I just wanted to say again that whatever you decide about the baby, I’m here for you fifty million percent.”
Even if an evil, blue-eyed elephant tramples me in my sleep every night.
He chuckles and tension slips out of the muscles pressed against my cheek. “Fifty million percent, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. It means everything to me.” He kisses the top of my head again. “I’ll be back in ten.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
He releases me and does his usual circuit around the island to look out into the yard. He notices that I’ve already set the table and shakes his head over his shoulder at me.
“When I’m cleared for squats with weights, there will be no more excuses, little girl. You’ll let me do my jobs or we’ll start every morning with discipline.”
I’ll risk it to keep him from hurting himself and delaying his recovery. Men and their egos.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Hmm, why am I not convinced?”
I shrug innocently while keeping my eyes on the growing pile of lemon
zest; if I look at Logan and he gives me those Dom eyes, I’ll fold. “Maybe we could redistribute our jobs?”
“You do everything and Daddy sits on the couch watching telly?”
Some men would like that. My ex-husband for example. But Logan’s not like that and I love his insistence that we share the household chores.
“Maybe I could set the table and do the dishes and you could clean up Sable’s morning offerings? Because that was kind of icky, I have to admit.”
“Is he not using his litter box?” Logan glares at Sable, who is stretched out, upside down with his white belly on display, in his favorite patch of sunlight near the open French doors.
“No, Daddy, he’s been very good about using his litter box since we put it in the bathroom. He left me some, um, trophies this morning. I think they might have been crickets. They weren’t nice. But before you throw them out, you have to praise him and tell him he’s a great hunter, otherwise you’ll hurt his feelings.”
Logan laughs. “Okay, baby doll, that’s a job I’ll take.” He detours back behind the island to give me a quick hug before he heads upstairs to wash.
When he returns, I have two plates of crepes ready, drizzled with lemon butter, garnished with mint. Just like Maman used to make. As I set them on the breakfast table, the doorbell rings.
Daddy glances in the direction of the front door and shakes his head. “I did not say she could come for breakfast.”
My belly clenches. Miranda, already? So much for Dr. Seuss sex. And I haven’t made enough crepes for three.
Logan goes to answer the door, and returns, grimacing, with Miranda in tow. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder, peach sundress that falls to mid-calf. It looks like silk. Definitely couture. Her golden hair’s in perfect spirals again, and her lipstick matches her dress.
I’m wearing cotton pajamas with teddy bears on them. I haven’t even brushed my hair yet, much less my teeth. Gross. I need to escape upstairs.
I gesture to the table. “I hope you like crepes.”
“I do,” Miranda says, sunnily. She must know she’s about to eat my breakfast.
“Emily—” Daddy begins.
I stretch up and kiss him on the cheek. “Do you mind if I take a shower while you two eat? I didn’t wash my hair last night and it’s itchy.”
He catches my cheek and cups it, tipping my face up so he can look into my eyes. “You’ll eat after your shower. Something nicer than dry toast.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Call me when you’re done with your shower. I’ll pick your clothes for today.”
I would wiggle happily except that the Mir-Witch is glaring at me with the elephant’s blue eyes and it’s making me nervous about getting trampled again. I simply nod and smile at him before escaping.
I make it a long shower, conditioning my hair for ten minutes and taking the time to shave where I’m not lasered. I straighten my hair, which I almost never do, because I don’t want to share anything with the Mir-monster, not even curls. When I can’t stretch it out any longer, I call down for Logan.
He doesn’t answer, which isn’t like Daddy at all. I throw on his robe and, after taking a moment to sniff his scent off the robe’s collar, sneak downstairs.
He’s in his office, sitting at his desk, with the house phone pressed to his ear. The door’s open and when I pause at it, he gestures me inside and onto his lap. I snuggle into him happily and listen to his conversation.
I’m close enough to the handset that I can hear the other person speaking, although it’s not a voice I recognize. It’s a man’s voice, low and authoritative.
“You’ll appreciate I have no warm feeling for Mr. Errol. His actions towards my pet were reprehensible. Laurel may have forgiven him as part of her recovery, but I have not.”
“I understand,” Logan says. “Rick would like to apologize. Would you and Laurel be open to an apology, or is it too little, too late?”
The other man grumbles. “I’d need to think on it.”
“Fair enough,” Logan says. “Rick’s having a party on Friday night. Would you consider coming up? We can all sit down on Saturday and see if there’s something we can work out, but Friday, just enjoy Rick’s hospitality?”
“Is this a play party?” the other man asks.
“Definitely. I’m not sure if there will be any other pets there, but if it would make you and Laurel more comfortable, I’d be happy to bring Emily as a puppy.”
He would? I lift my head so I can look up at him and give him a huge smile. I really want to be his kinky, ninja puppy.
“That’s generous of you, and yes, that would help. Laurel’s very eager to meet you and your baby girl, which is unusual because she doesn’t warm to people quickly. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I also don’t want to put her in any situation where she’s forced to relive the events of that weekend.”
“Agreed. We’ll abide by any conditions you set. I don’t want to trigger her, either.”
The man sighs. “All right. Yes, yes, petto, we’ll go.” He chuckles. “Laurel’s excited. We’ll fly up Friday and plan to stay until Sunday afternoon.”
“Great. I’ll have Rick’s manager get in touch with you about the flights. Instead of a hotel, can I offer you our guest bedroom? I have a playroom at the house if you’d like to use it, and, as I mentioned at the beginning of our conversation, I’m a member of Blunts and you’d be welcome at the club as my guest if you need a different play space.”
“Again, very generous. We’re strangers, Mr. Logan. Why would you open your home to strangers?”
Daddy shrugs against me, even though whomever he’s talking to can’t see his gesture. “Other than wanting to protect both Laurel and my client, I don’t really have an answer for you. If it makes you uncomfortable, Rick’s manager will arrange a hotel room.”
“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” the man says. “I’d much prefer to stay where we have a play space, particularly if you have enough room for Laurel’s travel crate.”
“Yes, no problem. If the crate’s too big for the guest room, you can set it up in the playroom. Plenty of open space down there and there’s a bed as well. I’ve also got a small cage if you’d rather use that.”
“Sounds ideal, thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Logan says. “Is this the best number for you?”
“Yes. I’m on this number all day. If you don’t mind, I’ll give you a call tomorrow when I’ve had some time to think. I might have some ideas on how to deal with Mr. Errol’s problem. And I’ll want to set some boundaries on his interactions with Laurel.”
Logan nods and when his chin brushes my hair, he dips his head and kisses my forehead before he says, “That sounds fine. Let me give you my cell number so you can reach me tomorrow.”
He reels off his number and the man repeats it back to him before they say goodbye.
Logan leans over me to replace the phone handset in its base, then leans back in his chair with a creak of leather and springs and gives me a big cuddle.
“That was Laurel Radford’s Dom,” he says after a happy, snuggly while.
“I figured.”
“I should have asked you if you were okay with them staying with us before I extended the invite. Sorry, little love. I keep dropping social obligations on you.”
“No, it’s okay, Daddy. From everything you’ve said, I’m looking forward to meeting them. And I can’t wait to be your puppy. Can I be a kinky, ninja puppy?”
He chuckles and kisses my forehead again. “Yes, you can be a kinky, ninja puppy. We’ll have Lizbeth and the girls up next week and then that’s the end of socializing for a while, huh? It can be just you and me. Maybe until Niall, Shaan, and Vashi get here.”
They’re coming at the end of September, nearly a month from now. I do burn out from too much people, but I’m not feeling overtaxed at the moment. I loved the High Protocol dinner, despite Miranda’s presence, and Daddy said we could have some couples fro
m the playgroup over soon, and I was hoping that if that goes well, I could have some of the littles for a teddy bear’s picnic and sleepover. I don’t want to lose all that.
“I’m okay, Daddy. I promise I’ll tell you if I feel like it’s too much people. I’m doing good and I love all the entertaining we’ve done. I really want to have another play party or High Protocol dinner soon. They were both so much fun. I promise I’m good. Promise-promise.”
“Pinkie promise?”
He holds up his pinkie and I hook it and shake. My silly, wonderful daddy.
“Can I wear something really pretty today? Like one of the dresses you bought me for the cruise?”
“Mmm, I had something else in mind, but you can veto it.”
I don’t want to veto what he’s picked. “Wearing what you want me to wear makes me happy,” I whisper.
He squeezes me against his broad, firm chest. “That’s my girl. I don’t think I’m going to get my little girl’s pussy in a bed this morning, am I?”
It’s not looking good, with Miranda showing up so early. “Let me worship you instead, Daddy?”
“Mmm, you are such a sweetie. Shut the door, then come kneel.”
I do, and Logan fucks my face for ten blissful, breathless minutes, before he fills my tummy. Even as he fills one void, he leaves another achingly empty. After servicing him, an act that sometimes feels more intimate than penetration, I’m trembly with need, feverish and wanting. Daddy kisses the tears off my cheeks, wipes the spit off my chin with a baby wipe, but does nothing for my clenching, shaking, empty neediness.
I can see from the glint in his eye that he’s not going to any time soon, either. Uht-oh, the meanie light is on. Logan likes orgasm denial. I don’t, and I can tell from that light that it’s coming my way. Frustration should appeal to me as a masochist, but it doesn’t. I want gratification; I want to know my suffering will end with the reward I’ve earned. Sexual frustration just makes me resentful.
Logan knows this. He also knows I’ll put up with orgasm denial for him, even though it’s my least favorite thing. He’s earned my trust and submission. If he wants me to endure frustration today, I will, just like I’ll endure whatever he wants me to wear, even though I’d really like to look pretty. Pleasing him is more important than either my desire or my ego.