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

I stretch my hips to tip up my ass. The shift of the plug as I stretch feels good—that’s something to remember—I push down when I feel Logan’s latex-covered fingers grasp the plug’s base. He slides it free and I hear a crinkle of plastic. Then he wipes my bottom with something cool and damp. Another crinkle of plastic and a snap of his glove and he’s helping me stand. No cramping, and my body settles instantly.

I look around. His hands are empty. Where did the plug go?

“Daddy, do you want me to wash Morris?”

“Did I tell you to?” His words are stern, but his eyes are warm.

Am I topping from below? Matthew always warned me against doing that.

“No, Daddy. I’m just offering.”

He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead, then drops a gentle kiss that tastes of butter and brine across my lips. “I’ll take care of Morris. When we get to them, I’ll show you the sex toys you’re responsible for.”

“Ta very much, Daddy.”

“Come on, we don’t want our dinner to get cold.”

I follow him back to the table. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair, and I realize where Morris went, and why he kept his jacket on during the first part of the meal. He really does think of everything.

Our entrees are waiting at the table, and Teresa is waiting to give me my crash course in quantum physics. I settle into my seat, wait for Logan to put the napkin back on my lap, and then cut up my sea bream, while Teresa launches into what I’m sure is a hugely dumbed-down explanation of phases of matter. Most of it still goes over my head, especially when she tries to explain spin states, but what I take away from it, while I enjoy the pan-seared fish with its zesty salsa, is that I need a quantum computer, because that’s what topological insulators are used for, and they sound extremely cool.

The way Teresa talks about the potential uses of quantum computers, they could write my books for me, as well as get humans to Mars.

“When will the little people be able to buy these things, quantum computers?” Logan asks while I’m chewing a mouthful of fish.

“Radio Shack should stock them in time for Christmas,” Teresa says with a wink.

“Perfect. Now I know what to get Emily.”

“Ah, lucky man,” Dr. Lehmann interjects. “To know the perfect gift for your darling so far in advance.” He picks up his wife’s hand and kisses her knuckles. “After twenty-five years together, I’ve run out of ideas.”

They’ve been together for twenty-five years? Wow.

“Now, now.” Teresa pats her husband’s cheek affectionately. “You know I adore those gift cards to Ann Summers you give me every year.”

Everyone laughs.

“Twenty-five years. Congratulations.” Logan toasts them with his water glass. He’s not drinking, and I wonder if that’s because he’s working. “How did you meet?”

Teresa and her husband give us a double-sided version of their courtship. I try to remember every word, because I definitely want to use it in a book. Through a series of mishaps, Michael stole Teresa’s bicycle from the rack between the labs where they were doing their respective postdocs. She saw him ride it away. By the time he realized his mistake, she’d called the police and reported the theft. He tried to return it, only to be arrested. They had their first date while he was in the back of a UCLA campus police cruiser. The “arresting” officer was Michael’s best man when they got married ten months later.

Throughout the story, they smile and touch each other. They’re quiet about it, none of the flashy possessiveness and aching tenderness of Niall and Vashi, but I can see Teresa and Michael are still very much in love.

I lean a little into Logan and he slips his arm around me.

I’m so caught up in their story, and the warm glow of touching my Dom, that I almost miss it when the waiters start removing the empty dinner plates.

Before they reach Logan, I gather up his silverware and side plate and stack them on his dinner plate. Then I take the napkin off his lap, fold it and pile it on top of the dishes. When a waiter moves behind Logan, I hand him the plates, and Logan’s empty glass. Once the plates are gone, I carefully gather up all the crumbs from in front of him—there aren’t many, Logan’s a neat eater for a man—and lick them off my thumb.

Logan smooths his hand over my hair when I finish and murmurs, “Good girl.”

I flush with the praise and feel a distinct pulse between my legs. If he bent me over the dinner table right now, he’d find me ready. That thought makes me throb, and blush, harder.

“We’ll stay for a few minutes to be polite,” he continues in his deep whisper, close to my ear. “Then we’ll go watch some scenes.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say, sitting back and letting the waiter clear my dishes. Logan didn’t tell me to clear my own place, and I know from my own stint waitressing in college that most waiters prefer to collect dirty dishes off the table rather than having things handed to them. Logan’s probably never waited tables. The thought of him bussing tables in a pink thong makes me bite my lips to stifle a giggle.

“I hope you’ll come to the dancing after dinner,” Teresa says to me.

“Oh, is there dancing?”

Of course there’s dancing. There’s everything on this insanely fancy ship. I’m much less interested in dancing than watching scenes, though. I send a pleading look at Logan.

“Sorry, we’ll have to take a rain-check on dancing,” he says. “We’ve signed up for a scene and then it’s an early night. We’re still adjusting to the time change.”

“Of course,” Teresa demurs. “Make time for the nightclub, though, while you’re aboard. Master Miki, the D.J., is fantastic. So much