The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  More bile spurts into my throat and I swallow hard against the taste of blueberries and acid. “I have different responsibilities.”

  Another cackle. “Cooking and doing the dishes? You’re more of a maid than a submissive. You do understand he’s only letting you stay here because he needs you while he recovers, right?”

  Ignore her. Ignore her. Daddy told me to ignore her. I snatch up the first aid kit, turn on my heel and walk out of the playroom. Behind me, she snaps the flogger again and my back tenses in anticipation of a hit. Now I feel the goddamn butt plug.

  When no blow lands, I continue walking. I hope she doesn’t follow me. Locking her into the playrooms has a huge amount of appeal right now. Logan can let her out when he gets back. I’ll take whatever punishment he dishes out for locking her down here, but I can’t deal with her any more on my own. And the idea of her walking up the stairs behind me and seeing the shiny pink jewel between my bare ass-cheeks makes my stomach clench so hard I’m sure I’m going to puke.

  “Running away, Emily?” she says nastily from behind me.

  Of course, of course, she follows me up the stairs. Fuck it all.

  At the top of the stairs, I wait. Logan doesn’t like the playroom door left open, even when it’s just us in the house, so I need to lock it behind her. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. I hate her. I hate every image she just planted in my brain. I hate that she saw my bare, plugged butt waggling up the stairs. I hate what a bitch she is.

  Daddy’s exes suck.

  As I close the door behind her and press my thumb and fingers against the lock, she drops the flogger at my feet with a musical jingle.

  “Pick that up,” she purrs. “There’s a good maid.”

  I pick up the flogger. Not because she’s told me to, but because Logan’s so careful with his tools and he’d spit nails if he saw the flogger on the floor with the falls bent every which-way.

  “How much longer do you think he’ll need a maid for?” Miranda continues in that fake throaty voice, stroking her hands over her belly. “He’s nearly recovered.”

  I am not a maid, but if that’s what Logan needed, I’d be proud to be his little maid. I swallow hard and move away from her.

  She curls her talons around my upper arm.

  “You seem to genuinely care for him,” she says. “But you’re nothing like what he needs. He needs someone who challenges him. He needs a partner. Not a maid, not a doormat. I was embarrassed for you at dinner last night. Don’t you have any pride?”

  Bitch, bitch, bitch. I tug against her grasp, but she doesn’t release me, and, damn, she’s kind of strong.

  “Logan’s easy to fall for.” She gives a small laugh, which is probably intended to be self-deprecating but comes off as vicious. “I’ve watched a lot of women do it over the years. And I’ve seen him fall for them, too. He falls fast. He just doesn’t stay there very long. A month, or two, and then he’s restless and looking for the next new thing. No one holds his attention for long. Certainly not someone who doesn’t even fight him for her submission.”

  I shiver and tug harder. I hate every word that’s coming out of her mouth. Logan is easy to fall for, and I’ve been terrified from the start that I’ve fallen too fast. It’s only Logan’s constant reassurance that my feelings are fully reciprocated that’s kept me from freaking out entirely. Hearing that the long string of women he’s been involved with before me also fell for him, and that he gave them the same reassurances, claws at my heart with talons sharper than the ones Miranda’s digging into my arm.

  “I’m not being insulting when I say you’re just the latest thing, and of course, you made yourself indispensable when he was injured. But now that he’s better, he’ll get restless. I bet he’s already topping other submissives, isn’t he?”

  My heart seizes and I stop trying to pull away from her.

  Miranda smiles, and pounces.

  “Of course, he is. That’s just what Logan’s like. I’ve seen it many times. Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just not a one-woman man. And, forgive me for saying so, you seem too needy to share.”

  I flinch, and my heart tears further.

  “You see, that’s why our relationship lasted for so long. I’ve never had any problem sharing him.” She rubs her free hand over her belly. “But I don’t think that will be an issue in the future. He’ll be too busy being a father. He’ll be a wonderful father, don’t you think?”

  I do, actually. Somehow, I manage to croak, “Yes,” through the bile filling my throat.

  “I know what the paternity test is going to show,” she says, smiling and smiling like a Shakespearean villain. I want to stab her. She deserves to share Polonius’s fate. “I’ve always known. I made a huge mistake not telling Logan, but I’ve learned my lesson. Once he’s forgiven me, he’ll see that we should be a family. I can give him what he needs and I’m the mother of his child. You’ll understand, of course, that we don’t need a maid. Particularly not as incompetent a maid as you are.”

  She casts a harsh glance over the room, which isn’t at its best, I admit, since it’s been several days since the housekeeper came and I’ve been busy. Still, how rude is she to point it out?

  “So, don’t you think it’s time for you to leave? Go back to Syracuse. Before you get in any deeper and he breaks your heart? Forgive me for saying so, but you seem rather too fragile to handle heartbreak well.”

  She finally releases my arm and puts both hands on her belly, smiling, waiting for me to break down or bolt. God, I want to. But both would mean she’s won and there’s no fucking way I’m giving her that satisfaction.

  Instead, I firm up my stance and wait, because that’s what I do best, as my ex-husband would say. Did say to anyone who would listen. I wait until the smile slips off her face and her eyes turn glacial.

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  “You do know he asked me to marry him,” she says. No smile now. Her glare is pure razors and brass knuckles.

  I nod, despite the hurricane that’s whirling inside me. “Yes, he told me.”

  “You understand that all this—” She waves her hand, presumably referring to me keeping house for Logan. “Is nothing more than a game. An extended role-play. You don’t know him. I was with him for five years. I know what Logan needs. It isn’t you. He’s ready to settle down. That’s why he’s asserting paternity. He’s ready for a family. You are a diversion, designed to make me jealous. Nothing more.”

  I swallow hard and force my voice to sound cool and unconcerned. “Is it working?”

  “What?” she spits.

  “Am I making you jealous?”

  She lifts her hand and I step back out of striking range. She’s built like an Amazon and pregnancy hormones make women crazy. I’m not standing still for her to smack me.

  “I’m trying to be nice to you,” she snarls. “I’m trying to spare you the heartache I’ve seen his other subs suffer when he dumped them. I actually believe in sisterhood, you ungrateful little cow.”

  I wonder how many of Logan’s other subbies she tried to “spare” in the name of sisterhood. What a fucking bitch.

  “How silly of little me to question your motives,” I say. “Sister to sister? I think you’re full of shit.”

  I turn on my heel, heading for the stairs, to take Logan’s flogger up to the bedroom and put it away in his toy bag. I’ll explain to him later why it ended up there. At least I won’t get punished for taking care of his flogger the way I would have for locking Miranda in the basement, as satisfying as that would have been.

  As I turn the corner into the hallway, the door of Logan’s office catches my eye. It’s partially open, which is strange. Logan never leaves his office door open when he’s out. He has client files and all kinds of confidential stuff in there.

  I cross the hall to pull the door closed.

  “Five years,” Miranda snarls behind me. “I was with him for five years. You think that counts for noth
ing? He waited for me all that time. Once my divorce is final, there won’t be anything keeping us apart, except you. Do you know how fast he’ll toss you aside?”

  In a nano-second if she has her way, but I’m not sticking around to listen to any more of her cruelty. Logan said I could ignore her and I’m about to ignore her in the biggest way possible as I lock myself in my little room.

  As I reach for the door handle, I glance into the office to make sure nothing’s been disturbed.

  Logan’s leaning against the edge of his desk, with his arms crossed over his chest. He lifts his head and I meet his dark, furious eyes.

  Oh, fuck.

  I’m so shocked that I start to pull the door closed without thinking, before I can fully process his presence.

  “Emily,” he growls.

  I open the door again quickly, tangling the flogger strap in the handle in my haste. “Daddy, I—”

  He shakes his head and points to the floor at his feet with two fingers.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I untangle the flogger, shuffle to him, and sink to my knees.

  “Logan,” Miranda says from behind me. She sounds as shocked as I am. “I didn’t realize—”

  “Obviously,” he replies. His dark and very serious tone sends a scary-bad shudder straight through me. “Get out. I’ll deal with you later.”

  “Bu-but, Logan—”

  “Get out of my office, Miranda. Right. Now.”

  The door shuts quietly. I keep my eyes on the patch of carpet between my knees and try really, really hard not to shake.

  Logan’s warm hand settles on the top of my head. “Hand me what you’re carrying,” he says quietly.

  Keeping my head bowed, I offer up the flogger and first aid kit.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “I was clipping Sable’s claws when he scratched me. But it’s not his fault,” I say quickly. I don’t want Daddy to be angry at my kitty. “He was fine with the front ones. I think I just surprised him when I clipped the back ones. Or maybe they’re more sensitive. I’ll be more careful next time.”

  “Hold out your arm.”

  I do, offering it up without lifting my head. Please, please, please let my submission placate him. I don’t know when he came back. How much he heard. But if he heard me tell Miranda she’s full of shit, I’m utterly fucked.

  He inspects my arm, opens the kit, and takes out several things. He swabs the scratches with an antiseptic wipe, waits until my skin dries, then smooths a gauze pad over the scratches and tapes down the edges. A plain white gauze pad. Not a Winnie the Poo or Little Mermaid Band-Aid. He doesn’t kiss it and my insides curl up a little tighter.

  “We’ll check that again tonight. Animal claws are notoriously germy, so you may get an infection. If it starts to feel hot, I want to know right away.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Why are you carrying my flogger around?”

  Figures that he wouldn’t hear Miranda insult me. Please, dear Lord, do not let him have heard me swear at her.

  “Miranda brought it up from the playroom.” And then threw it on the floor, but as much as I want to score points off the Mir-Witch, I don’t think telling Daddy that is going to help my case right now. “I was going to put it upstairs in your toy bag.”

  “Why was Miranda in the playroom?”

  “She followed me down when I went to get the first aid kit.”

  “I see.”

  He’s silent for a long minute and I wait, not nearly as patiently as I waited out Miranda.

  “Hendry sent me a text before I even got to her office, canceling our appointment. Her son’s been injured playing basketball, maybe a broken ankle, so she’s taken him to the ER. I gather neither of you heard me come in.”

  I didn’t. I’m sure Miranda didn’t, either, or she wouldn’t have said some of the things she said.

  “No, Daddy.”

  “Anything you’d like to confess?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to get a grip on the emotions slamming around inside me like a ping-pong ball. He’s not calling me his little girl or baby doll or any of his usual endearments. I have to assume he heard me curse at her. I’m fucked for that. This is my second strike on swearing. My second strike on disrespecting one of his exes. I’m seriously, seriously fucked. But she confronted me. It’s not fair that I can’t stand up for myself when Daddy’s not around and she started it.

  Aaand just thinking that makes me sound like a five-year-old in my own head. I’m supposed to be the bigger person. Fuck-fuck-fuckety-fuck.

  “I swore. I broke the rules.”

  “Yes, you did. Anything else?”

  The shame of it crashes down on my shoulders. He’s not shouting at me. He’s speaking calmly, evenly, and with such profound disappointment that I feel like I’m going to drown in a tsunami of disapproval.

  “I disrespected your guest.”

  “Yes, you did. That’s two rules, right?”

  “Yes.” I struggle to stay upright against the deluge of shame.

  “Is telling our guest that she’s full of shit being the bigger person?”

  “No, Daddy,” I whisper, barely able to force a sound around the thickness of my throat.

  “Does it break our contract? The one you signed? The one that says you won’t swear, you won’t be disrespectful toward Daddy’s guests? Do you remember those rules? The ones you agreed to live by while Daddy does his damndest to create a safe place for you to be little all the time. Do you remember?”

  I swallow against the tears that are building and nod.

  “Words, Emily.”

  “I remember.” My voice breaks. I bend over and put my forehead on the carpet while the small voice inside me screams again that it’s not fair. I shouldn’t get in trouble for something she started. “I’m s-s-sorry, Daddy. I t-t-tried really hard not to be as mean to her as she was being to m-m-me.”

  “Her terrible behavior is not an excuse for yours. Why do we have the rules, Emily?”

  I take several broken breaths to fight back the tears so I can answer him. “To establish the boundaries of our power exchange.”

  “And?”

  “To make a safe space for me to be little all the time.”

  “Does Daddy’s little girl swear?”

  “No, Daddy.” I can’t stop the tears. They spill, dripping onto the carpet.

  “Does Daddy’s little girl speak rudely to guests and embarrass Daddy?”

  “No, Daddy. I’m s-suh-sorry!”

  “This is the second time, Emily. On both these rules.” His voice is low and soft, but that just makes it worse. I huddle on the floor and wish I could sink through it. “You’ve already had your mouth washed out with soap for swearing and an hour in the playpen for breaking the rule about insulting Daddy’s friends. I’m disappointed.”

  I cringe and cry silently into the carpet.

  “I’m also disappointed that I can’t leave you in the house for half-a-bloody-hour with Miranda without the two of you getting in a cat-fight,” he continues, and I cringe again. “Knowing Miranda, she started it. But that’s no excuse. You had all the time in the world to walk away. Instead, I heard you goad her. Not once, but twice. You said what you said thinking that I wasn’t home and wouldn’t find out about it. You did it on purpose, Emily. That’s not acceptable.”

  His disappointment crashes over me. It breaks somewhere between my chest and my throat, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I can’t hold it in any more. “It’s not fair! You’re not letting me defend muh-my-myself when you’re not here!”

  “You’re right,” Logan says and for a wild moment I think he’s actually agreeing with me. Startled, I lift my head and look up into his face. His neck is flushed. His cheekbones and jaw are so prominent they look like they’re about to cut through his skin. His eyes are absolutely blazing. Oh, fuck. He’s not agreeing with me at all, and he’s really, really angry. I slam my forehead back down into the carpet.

/>   “It’s not fair,” he continues. “Life’s not fair, little girl. I didn’t promise you I’d make the world fair. I promised you that I would make it safe if you followed my rules—”

  “You haven’t made it safe!” I sob. “She confronted me! She tried to scare me with your flogger, and when that didn’t work, she grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let me go! How is that safe? I wish I’d gone home to Syracuse while she was here. Why didn’t you let me go home?”

  Logan’s silent. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I curl one hand over my head and slide the other one under my face to shut my stupid mouth.

  He’s quiet for so long my tears dry up and I kneel with my forehead on the carpet, sniffling, because of course my nose is running. Even though I’ve stopped crying, fine tremors run through me and I can’t stop them no matter how tightly I squeeze my muscles. They run through me until I’m shivering all over. With each tremor, the wire of tension inside me stretches thinner and thinner, until finally, I snap. I can’t stay here anymore, silent and shaking under the weight of his anger and disappointment. I don’t belong here.

  I bolt.

  Logan catches me before I reach the door. He wraps his arms around me, lifts me off my feet, and drags me backwards to his chair. He sits, pulling me down into his lap. His arms are like steel bands around me. He seats me in his lap with a force that jams the butt plug up behind my heart somewhere, but the whole scuffle is absolutely silent except for our harsh breaths.

  “Stop, little girl,” he growls into my hair. “You do not run away from me.”

  “Luh-let me g-g-go!” I wail. “I c-c-can’t follow your rules! I c-c-can’t be your little girl! I’m not guh-good enough.”

  “Stop,” he growls. “Stop that right now. Stop. You are still my little girl. You will always be my little girl. Do you hear me?”

  I shake my head. I do hear him but I can’t stay here in his lap when everything is crumbling and crashing around me. When I’ve ruined everything. I’ve said things he can’t possibly forgive. I can’t stay here like this. I can’t.