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

and ass are pressed against my front. I pull her in tight with one arm across her, while I pluck the buttons of her shirt with the other, until it hangs open and everyone can see her captured nipples. Gorgeous. She’s in good company. Half of the dancers are in some stage of undress.

She grinds back against me and I give her a playful slap on the hip. “Let’s see that naughty little girl,” I growl in her ear. “No rules on the dance-floor. Let it all out, sweetheart.”

She curves her arms back and loops her hands around my neck. Holding on to me for balance, she grinds down my thighs and then back up to the beat. I press my hand to her belly, feeling the roll of her little muscles beneath my palm, and move with her. When I peer at her face, her eyes are nearly closed, just a rim of white showing between the lids. Her lips are parted and I can see the tip of her tongue between them, clamped between her little white teeth. Sexy baby.

We grind all through the song, with Emily working her ass on my erection in a way that makes me sweat harder than the heat or exertion. I want to fuck her right here, slam my hand between her legs, haul her up on my cock and bang her all over the dance floor. The way she’s moving, she might be up for that. We wouldn’t be the only ones, either.

The song switches over to Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round.” Emily squeals, which I take to mean she likes the song. As long as she keeps working that little round ass on my cock, I’ve got no objection to more dancing. Keeping with the music, I put both hands on her belly, squeezing her tits between my forearms, which elicits more squeals, and grind her around in circles until she’s giggling wildly and I’m dizzy.

We dance on through Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock’s “It Takes Two,” and a Madonna song I don’t recognize but has a beat that pounds with the same insistence as my cock. When Santana’s “Smooth” comes on, which is a song I love to fuck to, I’m beyond seriously considering taking Emily on the dance floor. I’m ready; she’s ready; I start to palm her skirt out of my way.

A flurry of movement in Rick’s booth snatches my attention away from Emily and my demanding erection.

Manny shoots to his feet.

Shit.

Emily’s arms drop away from my neck. “Sir!” she shouts over the music.

“I see it, baby,” I say into her ear. “Lead the way.”

So much for a hot and dirty fuck on the dance floor.

Emily scampers toward the booth, dodging between dancers, leading me by the wrist. When we clear the dance floor, I see what’s brought Manny to his feet.

Ms. Orange and Pink has vomited all over Rick. Looks like she had spaghetti for dinner.

Rick’s on his feet, too, screaming at the girl crumpled at his feet. He’s covered: once-white shirt, now limp dick, soaked pants. It looks like he’s been a victim of a red paint attack by one of those anti-fur activists.

Plus noodles.

“Eww.” Emily stops dragging me forward. “Spaghetti.”

I draw her back a step. “Baby doll, can you do me a favor and go to the bar? Get the attention of Thomas, he’s the bald bartender with the earplugs. Tell him we need clean-up in booth four. Thanks, baby.”

Emily nods and moves away from the spaghetti-scene towards the bar. She buttons up her shirt as she goes, which I didn’t tell her she could do, but is reasonable given the circumstances. I still might discipline her for it later.

For now, I trudge forward to deal with the mess.

Lucy, one of our house subs and a total darling on top of being a blonde bombshell, arrives before I have to get too up-close and personal with the mess. Lucy brings a blanket for Ms. Spaghetti, which I wrap around her shoulders. On her return, Emily offers to take Ms. Spaghetti to the ladies’ room, which galvanizes Daisy to do something other than laugh at Rick. The two women help a sobbing Ms. Spaghetti off to the bathroom while one of the cleaning staff begins mopping up the mess and Lucy offers Rick a pair of sweatpants.

He strips in angry jerks, tearing off his white shirt and tossing it into the cleaner’s waste bucket. He lets Lucy wipe him down with a handful of baby wipes and looks like he’s about to order her to do more when she cleans off his dick.

I shake my head at him. Maybe it’s Emily telling me about her disgust at the vomit-porn she watched, but I’m not having Rick make Lucy suck him off after some other girl’s puked all over him. Rick’s face darkens but he stays silent as he yanks on the sweatpants.

I move over to Manny and pat him on the shoulder. “I think that’s it for the night, don’t you?”

He nods. “I’ll get the car. Meet you outside.”

“If Ms. Spaghetti needs a ride home, I’m going to offer her one. Was Rick choking her?”

Manny nods again. “See you outside.”

I collect Emily’s bag and blazer and my jacket and waistcoat and fold them over my arm since I’m still much too warm to put anything back on.

My phone buzzes against my arm; I fumble it out of my jacket.

It’s a text from Maude. Do you need evac?

That makes me chuckle, despite the grimness of the mess in front of me. It’s under control, I text her back. Lucy deserves a bonus. 500 on my account.

My phone pings as the cleaner finishes. Done, but it should be that big-headed prick paying.

I’ll expense it to him, don’t worry.

Enjoy the rest of your night, reprobate.

You, too, battle-axe.

Emily and Daisy return with a red-eyed but much fresher-smelling Ms. Spaghetti. I ask the girl if she needs a ride but she shakes her head.

“I came in