The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (i love reading txt) 📗

same place, but our bed and dungeon only has eight rooms, so that quickly became an impossibility.

I switch over to my email program and forward an email I sent to some of the Blunts house submissives a few days ago with a list of bed and breakfasts and motels near where we’re staying. “I’ve sent you the list. Can you let them know that the one on Delaware Street’s all booked up now?”

“Okay, little girl. Take everything else off that tab, too. Niall can and probably has already made arrangements for Vashi’s vegetarian meals. Javier can find his own damn drycleaner and you do not need to double-check with the hotel that there’s a covered spot for Harry and Mac to park their bikes. Emmy, you’re not their travel agent. This weekend is for you, sweetheart.”

I delete the other bullet points in the tab and close my “To Do” list before Daddy sees what else is on there. “I just want it to be perfect,” I say softly.

“Oh, baby doll.” Daddy slides his arm behind my shoulders and pulls me against his side. “It will be perfect because I’m collaring you.”

He rubs his finger along the platinum chain that rests at the base of my throat. It’s been a collar since he gave it to me three months ago, but on Sunday he’ll put a lock on it. Locking my collar doesn’t make our relationship any more “real” than my submission to him has been these past three months. And yet it does. In the same way that him putting an engagement ring on my finger will make our engagement more real than it’s been since he asked me to marry him a month ago. I can’t explain why these small symbols mean so much. I only know they do.

“I know the collaring will be perfect, Daddy. I just want everyone to have a really good time.”

He kisses my temple. “Everyone will have a wonderful time as long as we do. But if you keep stressing about Vashi’s meals and Javier’s damn drycleaner you won’t enjoy a minute of it. Put it all aside, baby doll, and focus on what’s important. You and me.”

I snuggle into him fiercely. He’s such a good daddy. And he’s right. All that matters is him and me.

His tablet pings and he glances at it, then chuckles and angles it so I can see. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep the laugh from bursting out.

“I take it back; Bren might not have a wonderful time.”

His screen shows a picture of our friend Brenna. She looks like a very angry chipmunk, her cheeks hugely puffed out with gauze and her middle finger flying at the person who has taken the picture.

“It wasn’t just a filling,” I observe, looking at the picture. When we were at dinner two days ago, Brenna crunched on something she thought was a loose filling. Our friend Austin, who has medical training, badgered her into going to the dentist before everyone hops what they’re calling the “party train” that most of our guests are taking up to Niagara Falls from the City tomorrow.

“Nope, looks like she needed a crown. That’ll keep her under control for the weekend.”

I poke him and he laughs. Daddy pretends not to like Brenna, but I know he really does because he’s encouraged me to be friends with her and he wouldn’t do that if he thought she wasn’t good people. With her blue dreadlocks, many tattoos, multiple piercings, affinity for leather, and general “give no fucks” attitude, she seems a little wild, and a little scary, on the outside. Inside, she’s the most genuinely kind and accepting person I’ve met since coming to live with Daddy. She’d make a joke of it if I called her my best friend, but she definitely is one of them, and I’m looking forward to her joining us in Niagara almost as much as I’m looking forward to seeing some of our friends from the West Coast that I haven’t seen in months.

Daddy’s tablet pings again and when he glances at it, he grumbles, without any of the amusement Brenna’s chipmunk picture gave him. He tips it and shows it to me.

It’s an email from Daddy’s solicitor in England. She’s been handling Daddy’s paternity case against another of his former subs, Miranda. A court-ordered test last month showed Daddy is the father of Miranda’s baby and he immediately filed for custody. He won’t tell me exactly what happened, but he got sole custody of his daughter, who he’s named Olivia, after only one hearing. I did a little research to help Daddy figure out what his options were, and I know that an English court wouldn’t have awarded him custody without finding Miranda an unfit mother. While I couldn’t agree more with the finding, because a more horrible person I haven’t yet come across in my thirty-two years on this planet, I have to figure that Daddy had some very serious dirt on Miranda.

I haven’t asked him about it, and I won’t. Miranda is a closed topic. Daddy cut off all contact with her after she tormented me during her visit over the summer. I’m not supposed to even think about her, but she is on both of our minds since her delivery date was two days ago and she still hasn’t gone into labor.

“She’s going to be induced on Tuesday,” Daddy says.

“That’s good, right?” I ask.

“Yup.” Daddy tips his head back against the seat and hugs me tightly to him. “Probably right around this time last year that she had her IUD taken out without telling me.”

I rub his chest gently. Miranda’s betrayal gutted Daddy and he’s still working through all the feelings her betrayal created. “A lot’s changed in a year.”

“Certainly has.” Daddy lifts his head and kisses my temple. “All for the better, my baby. Uht-oh.”

He nods at my computer, where a picture of the male actors from the Avengers have appeared with the caption,