Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles by Frost, J (reading eggs books TXT) 📗

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Come on up.” He offers me his hand and when I push back from the sink, he helps me stand. Then he runs his hands through my hair and holds me still for a kiss. “You look gorgeous. You’ve got such light in your eyes. Are you having a good time, baby?”

I rest my hands on his broad chest, going up on my toes, feeling the weight of Morris in my ass. It’s not a bad weight. Not at all. “Yes, Daddy. Ta for everything.”

“You’re welcome. I meant what I said at lunch. This is a vacation for you. I want you to enjoy every moment.”

“I am enjoying myself, I promise.”

“Good girl. Put some shoes on while I grab a tie and we’ll go meet the captain.”

I unwind from him and patter into my own cabin, discovering that wearing Morris is not compatible with skipping. I haven’t unpacked yet, but Logan’s left my suitcases on the folding rack in my closet and I know exactly where the white, strappy, wedge sandals I brought are. I slip them on, find my toiletries bag and pull out Peter Aloha Bunny’s case. After I brush my hair with Logan’s horsehair brush and clean my teeth, I check under the sink to see if I have a hundred cakes of soap. Nope, just two spares and an extra roll of toilet paper. I return to Logan’s cabin, draw out my bunny, and lay it carefully on the right pillow.

Logan’s standing in front of the mirror, putting on a red tie that brings out the subtle red thread in the check of his tailored suit. He meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles. I approach him hesitantly, not wanting to disturb him while he’s dressing. When he nods, I press against his back and slide my arms around his firm waist. I lay my cheek against his back, feeling the satin of his waistcoat’s back against my skin. I breathe in his warm, spicy scent.

“You look so nice, Daddy.”

“Thanks, baby. I do my best. Good thing they believe in fake air, otherwise I’d be melting.”

I giggle, imaging him sweating in his tweed. The ship is very cool, even the big spaces like the embarkation lounge. But I’m not worried about being cold. I know as soon as I shiver with anything but excitement, Logan will wrap me up and keep me warm.

As if to show me he’s ready to do exactly that, Logan picks up his suit jacket and folds it over his arm, then holds out his hand for me.

* * *

Stairs going down with Morris in my butt aren’t as bad as going up, but I still feel like I’m walking like a duck and everyone must know I’m plugged.

Logan brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek when we reach the Garden deck, and I feel the heat of my own skin.

“Okay, sweetie?”

I nod firmly. He’s told me how long he wants me to wear the plug. I don’t want to disappoint him. With the stairs behind me, literally, the worst of it is over.

At the pink-velvet-draped entrance to the Pinctada restaurant, we’re greeted by the maître d’, who is wearing black tie, except that his bowtie and cummerbund are pink. I wonder if he’s wearing a pink thong underneath. Maybe it’s part of the cruise line’s employment terms?

Once the maître d’ shows us to a roped off area next to the captain’s table where they’re serving cocktails, I go up on my toes and whisper my thought in Logan’s ear.

He chuckles. “Stop thinking about anyone’s underwear but mine, naughty girl.”

He’s wearing a very nice pair of black silk shorts, which I got to feel as well as see when he rubbed himself all over me while I was draped over the back of the couch, recovering from my fifth orgasm of the day. “Will you wear a pink thong, Sir? I mean, to show your support for the cruise line?”

“Under no circumstances. Only thing I’ll do with any thong is snap your ass with it.”

I giggle, then swallow it, because a very stern-looking, Hispanic woman is approaching us. Her face softens a hair as she smiles, but not much more than granite “softens” when it gets wet. She’s eye-catching, with high cheekbones, a strong blade of a nose and waves of silver-gray hair. Her gleamingly white uniform accentuates broad shoulders and a nipped-in waist defined by her double-breasted jacket. She carries her gold-crested hat under her arm and takes it in her left hand so she can shake Logan’s hand.

“Maria-Luisa Lopez,” she says.

“James Logan. Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” Logan turns smoothly to me. “This is my guest, Emily Martin.”

The captain gives me a firm handshake. Not crushing. Not a woman who needs to prove anything. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Are you enjoying the cruise so far?”

I nod. “It’s fantastic.”

And multi-orgasmic.

“Good, I hope you continue to enjoy it. If there’s anything I can do to make your trip more enjoyable, please just let me know. I believe you’ve both already met Dr. Lehmann, and this is my second mate, Chief Carey License.”

A man a few years older than the captain, his iron-gray hair buzzed even shorter than Logan’s, his face tanned and seamed comes forward and shakes Logan’s hand and then mine.

“I’m told you were in the Navy, Mr. Logan?”

“Just Logan, Chief. Petty, First Class. How long were you in?”

“Twenty years. You?”

“Eight, sir.”

It sounds funny to hear Logan say “sir.” I know he’s just being respectful of someone who is clearly a senior sailor, but it still makes me twitch a little.

“You advanced fast. Where were you stationed, son?”

“Pacific Rim for the first four. Gulf of Aden for the last.”

Chief License grunts. “You saw some action, then?”

Logan’s dark eyes cut towards me. “Some. And you, sir?”

“Action? Not for the last decade. I got desk jockeyed after 9/11. The curse of being an efficient paper-pusher.