Negotiation: Daddy P.I. 0.5 by E Frost (e ink ebook reader .txt) 📗

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