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

and even if I wasn’t, our relationship is over. I’m with Emily now.”

The glance she shoots down the hallway has more venom than a black mamba. “Are you exclusive?”

“Yes.”

Emily and I haven’t discussed it, but there’s no question in my mind.

“When did this happen?” Rachel wails.

“Shh,” I scold her. “We’re in public.” Although the stairs, landing and corridors are currently empty, that could change any second with just a door opening. “It doesn’t matter when it happened. That’s the way it is now.”

“I’ve been waiting weeks, Master,” she says, two tears spilling to run down her cheeks. “I’ve come in every night, even when I wasn’t on the schedule. Ever since I convinced Padrone to share me with you—“

Her timing is piss-fucking-poor. “I’m sorry about that. When does your shift end?”

Hope lights her eyes, but I shake my head before she gets the wrong idea.

“Ten,” she says, lowering her head again so all I can see is the top of her head.

“At ten-thirty, you’ll report to Mistress Maude for an hour. You have my permission to tell her anything you want about us, but that’s where it ends, Rachel. No more of this.”

Her shoulders shake. “Yes, Master.”

Her pain should call to me. On several levels. That it doesn’t, tells me all I need to know.

“For the last time, Rachel, it’s Master Logan. Next time, it’s discipline. Now, if you need to take a break now to compose yourself, you have my permission. Ask Austin to spell you.”

“Yes, sir. Good-night, Master Logan.”

I turn away from my ex-slave and walk down the hall to where my baby girl’s waiting for me. Emily watches me walk towards her. Her face is neutral, but her eyes are bright.

“I’m assuming you heard that,” I say. The hall’s not that long.

Emily nods. “She’s really upset. Do you want to comfort her, sir? I don’t mind.”

“That’s generous of you.” I stroke her hair. “But I think it would give her the wrong idea. Better she vents to someone else and gets it out of her system. Let’s go.” I nod at the closed door behind her.

Emily moves so I can open the door and goes through when I urge her forward with my hand in the small of her back.

As I shut the door behind us, she says, “Can I ask a question, sir?”

“Only one?”

She nods.

“Yes, good girl for asking,” I say, over the barking that bounces off the gallery’s panelled woodwork.

“You told her we’re exclusive. Did you just say that to put her off, or because we are?”

“Because we are,” I say firmly. “I couldn’t stand anyone else touching you. Daisy really got my back up in the car just by sitting too close to you.”

She grins and reaches hesitantly for my hand. I take hers and lead her down the candle-lit gallery.

“I wasn’t sure, sir, because I know you’ve shared your other subs,” she says, almost too quietly to be heard over the barking of the hunt’s hounds.

Hearing the noise getting closer, I draw her to the side as we reach a corner. The “fox,” Tessa, one of the house subs, wearing a cute little red tail and perky ears that match her perky, bare breasts, runs around the corner a moment later. She waves at me as she trots past, heading toward the portrait of the club’s founder, William Warrell, Earl of Blunt and exile from London to the New World for Acts Unspeakable. All of the house subs know about the secret passage behind his portrait. The man leading the hunt knows about it, too, of course, but he won’t tell the “hounds,” who are likely guests. It’s all part of the game.

After Tessa disappears, I say to Emily, “I’ve shared some of my other bottoms, sweetheart. Not all. It’s not something I need to do, and it’s not something I feel comfortable doing with you. Maybe it’s part of the daddy-thing. I feel very protective of you, and I wouldn’t be happy giving over your care to anyone else.”

She beams up at me. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. Ooop, stand in.” I pull her a little closer as a tangle of bodies careens around the corner.

It’s the hounds: six men stripped down to their kecks, skins oiled, ankles chained together, running on all fours, unpracticed, uncoordinated, skidding and slipping on the smooth parquet floor. One of them loses his balance and crashes into the corner a few feet from where Emily’s standing. I shift her out of the way as he scrambles up, only to be flattened to the floor again by the crack of a horse-whip across his shoulders.

“Ow, fuck!” The whipped hound yells. “That’s not the way this is supposed to go! I thought I was going to get to do the whipping!”

“You thought wrong,” Ryan says, stalking smoothly around the corner on polished black boots. “I might let you give our fox a little spanking, if you ever manage to catch her.” Ryan catches sight of me and grins. “Master Logan, are you joining the hunt?”

“Master Ryan,” I acknowledge. “Not tonight. Just watching. This is my date, Emily. Emily, this is Master Ryan.”

Ryan bows, flipping the tails of his hunting jacket back smoothly, and doffing his top hat. “Good evening, my dear. Would you like a ride on one of my hounds?”

Emily bites her lip and looks up at me. She gives me a tiny nod.

I take her hand and lead her to the pack of tangled, sweating men.

“That one,” Ryan says, flicking his whip across the shoulders of the already whipped hound. “It may be his only chance to get between a woman’s thighs tonight, at the rate he’s going.”

“Yeah! C’mon, pretty girl. Mount up!” The hound tries to crawl forward, but the ankle chain yanks his right leg out from under him. “Fuck, Pete! Work with me here!” He yells at the man nearest him.

“Enough talking,” Ryan says, flicking his whip across the back of each hound, to yelps and curses. “Dog noises only. Give Emily a smooth