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

My heart pounds and my balls draw up tight. I stop her, draw her close to the wall so we’re not obstructing the hallway and give her a deep, thorough kiss, my hands up under her skirt, gripping that hot, soft ass, while her arms lace around my neck.

When I let her up for air, she’s gone from beaming to dreamy-eyed and quivering. I can smell the faintest hint of gingerbread over the lemon polish of the parquet floor. I love how responsive she is.

“Daddy has not always been awesome,” I admit. “But Daddy is going to do everything he can to be awesome for his little girl.”

She gives me a beatific smile. “That’s all any daddy can do.”

I tap her on the tip of her nose and lead her down into the nightclub.

* * *

The nightclub is decidedly not awesome. It’s too warm, too loud and too crowded. Emily shrinks against me, clutching my hand, before we’re even through the bar into the main floor. I guide her along toward the VIP booths, where I’m sure Rick will have set out his stall.

The VIP booths, two dozen raised booths off the main dance and performance space which don’t hold much more than a semi-circular couch and a low table, aren’t really for VIPs. They’re for guests who want to feel important, and for our house subs to make a little extra money. It’s five hundred to reserve a VIP booth; only the house subs serve in the VIP booths and the minimum tip is a hundred. Throwing a grand at five rounds of drinks is not my idea of a good night.

But I’m right in guessing that it is Rick’s. He’s in the fourth VIP booth to the left of the dance floor. The heavy red curtains are open, so Rick, Daisy and Manny can watch the dance floor, and everyone on the dance floor can see the tit-job Rick is getting from a girl in pink and orange day-glow spandex, who is on her knees under the table. The spandex is currently around her waist as she pumps what must be G-cups up and down Rick’s cock.

“Emily!” Daisy calls over the music and pats the couch by her side. Manny obligingly slides out. I help Emily up the tall step into the booth and she climbs onto the couch next to Daisy. Once she’s seated, I settle next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. Manny retakes his seat on my far side.

He puts his mouth to my ear and says, loudly enough to be heard over the Eighties hip-hop the DJ’s playing, “We might have a problem.”

“What’s up?”

“The girl tit-fucking Rick is on the moon. Wait until you see her eyes. She looks like a fucking bush baby.”

I can’t see the girl because of the table, which I’m fine with, since watching Rick’s purple-headed warrior appear and disappear between those massive tits is not a turn-on for me. I’ll take Manny’s word for it.

Drugs are strictly prohibited in the club. Too much potential for mess, much less bad publicity. But people sneak them in anyway.

“What’s she on?”

“Blow, at a guess. She and Rick were doing tequila shots, too.”

Great. Just great. And I can’t really blame Rick, because it’s not his fault he draws drugged-up wannabes like honey draws flies.

“Did she use here?” I ask Manny.

Manny shakes his head. “She was fucked up when she showed up and pulled her top down.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads up. Let Rick get his rocks off, then we’ll make it an early night.”

“They might be hard to persuade. There’s a cage show at midnight Rick’s been talking up.” Manny nods towards the dance floor. Three cages hang over the mass of dancers already, but they’re empty at present.

I check my watch. Midnight is much too far away. I want to be home, and hopefully deep in Emily, by then.

As though responding to my thought, Emily shifts closer to me. When I glance over, I see that Daisy’s put one white-clawed hand on Emily’s thigh.

I reach across Emily and brush Daisy’s hand away. “Paws off.”

Daisy goes up on one knee. She sticks her face in mine and says, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath on my lips and smell the cinnamon gum she’s chewing, “C’mon, Big Daddy, share your toy. I promise we’ll have fun.”

“Back up and back off,” I tell her, snapping my teeth just short of the tip of her nose. “I don’t share and no one touches Emily but me.”

“Spoil-sport.” She cracks her gum at me, but sits back on the couch. I watch her for a minute to make sure she doesn’t touch Emily again. Give her points, she keeps her hands to herself, and Emily happily goes back to their conversation.

On the other side of the table, Ms. Orange and Pink is giving it her all: squeezing her breasts together with her hands, bobbing up and down furiously while she makes squeaky moans. Daisy rolls her eyes at each one. Without wanting to denigrate Ms. Orange and Pink’s efforts, Rick is looking only mildly interested. Although his cock is hard, his face isn’t flushed and he’s watching the dance floor instead of the show Ms. Orange and Pink is putting on for him.

Finally, he gets bored with the tit-job. He grabs her tufty updo and shoves her face down on his cock. When she squeals and protests, Rick slaps her face with his cock, hard enough to make a noise I can hear over the end of an old Bangles song, before shoving her head down again.

“No fucking finesse,” I hear Daisy say to Emily, who giggles.

Unfortunately, I agree with Daisy. Although there’s nothing wrong with a good cock-slapping, Rick’s doing it purely for his own gratification, not because he has any intention of topping Ms. Orange and Pink. Hitting a girl for anything other than her ultimate pleasure turns my stomach.

“Want to dance, baby doll?” I ask, to