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

the tie and put on jeans and hope I don’t need to leave the fake cold for more than a minute, or I’m going to broil under the Baja sun.

Emily comes through the open door between our rooms while I’m rolling up my shirt-sleeves, which reminds me to set a rule about the door. “Emmy, when the door is open, you can come into Daddy’s cabin without asking, whenever you want. When the door is closed, you’ll knock and wait for me to tell you that you can come in. You can close the door whenever you want, but you may not slam it for any reason. Slamming doors is disrespectful.”

She nods, her dark curls bouncing around her shoulders. She’s curled her hair, or maybe it’s just curlier in the heat, and it’s a rich tumble of chestnut waves that my hands itch to touch. I beckon and she comes to me in a rush. Cuddling her to my chest, I run my hands through her hair, which feels just as soft and silky as it looks.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” I whisper in her ear and she shivers against me, hugging me tight. “This hair. Fucking gorgeous. I could play with it all day. Tonight, you’ll show me how you brush it and then Daddy will brush your hair before bed every night.”

She shivers again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Did you look at your schedule before you came in here?” I ask, continuing to run my fingers through her hair.

“No, Daddy, I forgot.”

“Mmm.” I kiss her on the forehead. “Go get your schedule and your phone and we’ll go over it at breakfast.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I play with her hair for another moment before I release her with a swat on the ass for her lack of focus. She skips back to her room.

I pick up my watch. It’s always the last thing I put on when I dress. My own ritual, and like so many others, bound up in Mir. She gave me the watch on our second anniversary. She used to put it on last as the “finishing touch” of dressing her Master.

I put the watch back in the dresser drawer before I lock it.

It’s time for new rituals. Time to focus on being Emily’s Daddy. Time to put the past behind me. I’ve got my phone if I need to know the time. I pat my breast pocket, reassuring myself the phone’s there. As I move my arm, the fabric of my waistcoat brushes my bare wrist. That’s going to take some getting used to. Rubbing it, I go to get Emily.

Over breakfast, she notices my missing watch. I see her eyes flick to my wrist several times. Finally, when she’s finished her grapefruit and we’ve gone over her schedule for the day, she asks me about it.

“Sir, did something happen to your watch?”

“No, I won’t be wearing it anymore.”

I see the shock ripple through her eyes. Maybe she knows how much it cost. Mir certainly made sure I knew.

I reach across the table and take her hand. “It reminds me of someone else, baby doll. I don’t want to think about anyone but you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She flushes and gives me a shy smile. “Ta very much.”

“I was thinking this morning that we should start establishing our own rituals, Emmy. The things I’ve done with my previous bottoms, and you’ve done with your previous tops, they’re not relevant to us. I want to build something special, something unique. Maybe brushing your hair before bed isn’t unique. Your other Doms might have done that with you, but we’ll make it part of our own bedtime ritual. Putting on your pajamas, brushing your hair, reading a bedtime story, and falling asleep in Daddy’s arms. That will be our ritual, just for us.”

Her rosebud mouth drops open and she stares at me.

“You don’t like the sound of that?”

She shakes her head, gulps, and her eyes fill. She grabs a napkin with her free hand and blots her eyes quickly. “No, Sir, I love the sound of that.”

The ease with which I’ve moved her to tears with a simple bedtime ritual touches me, but it also reminds me of how deeply vulnerable Emily is. Mir loved rituals and accepted even the weirdest ones with grace. But she never cried because I created a ritual just for her. She never cried at all except when I pushed her right to the edge of her pain threshold. I’ve seen more tears out of Emily in five days than I did out of Mir in five years.

Fuck it, enough.

I’ve been idolizing Mir, putting her on a pedestal, while I was miserable without her. Now I’m demonizing her because Emily’s made me realize how much I was missing. There’s no comparison between them and it’s time to stop thinking about Mir. I told Emily I don’t cut people out of my life, but maybe the truth is I’ve been clinging to Mir, or at least allowing her to stay attached to me, because I wasn’t ready to let go.

It’s time. Emily deserves my full attention, my undivided focus.

When I lift my head out of my thoughts, Emily’s brilliant smile is my immediate reward.

* * *

After putting the Ben Wa balls back in with the instruction to remove them when she changes into her gym clothes, I leave Emily, pink-cheeked and smiling, in her own cabin and shut the connecting door. I lean against the closed door, immediately feeling an empty ache in my chest and a coldness that has nothing to do with the air-conditioning blasting down on me.

I want Emily back in my arms. I want to continue the conversation we were having over breakfast about the scenes we saw last night and the scenes we’re going to do. I want to hear more of the little quips she kept making about my sexual prowess. I even want an explanation of what the hell a blog tour is, which she’s evidently doing during her free time this