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

“What are you doing down there, little girl?” he asks, low and rough.

“I’m being very, very sorry, sir.”

“What are you sorry for?”

I turn my head to the side so I can breathe without inhaling the faint mustiness of his carpet, and say into his instep, “I’m scared of not doing things right, sir. I wanted to play hide-and-seek so I hid the paddle but then I thought you might be angry with me or think that I was trying to get out of my punishment, which I’m not, I just wanted—“

“Shh,” he soothes. He rocks a little over me, so his balls scrunch in my hair, and places his hands on my hips. “Relax, Emmy. Is this position comfortable? It doesn’t look it.”

“Not really,” I admit. My knees are grumbling. I should do more yoga. I stretch my arms out, then wrap my hands around his ankles, which Matthew wouldn’t have allowed. But Matthew wasn’t my Daddy. Not the way Logan’s become in less than forty-eight hours. Which is too soon and stupid and I’ll be terrified about it later when he’s not pinning me to the carpet with his balls.

“Hold it for me until the song ends. Then I’m going to let you up and you’re going to hide the paddle again while I cover my eyes. We’ll play ‘hotter, colder’. Do you know that version of hide-and-seek?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Emmy, don’t be afraid of playing with Daddy.”

“Even during sexytimes?” I ask hesitantly.

“Even during sexytimes,” Logan confirms, and I feel the tension tightening my back melt away. I go jello-boned again. I could hold this position forever if that’s what he wanted.

I turn my face into the carpet and whisper something I shouldn’t be feeling and can’t tell him but have to let out before my little bolts for the window, throws it open and screams it to the neighborhood.

“What was that, Emmy?” he asks, rocking back and forth, squashing his balls against my head. It must hurt, but he likes a little pain when he’s aroused, which is also different from my other Doms. I have to stop comparing him to them. He’s different. He’s unique. He’s Logan and he’s my daddy.

I turn my head back, nuzzle into his instep and kiss it. “Ta so very, very much, Daddy,” I say. Which is part of what I said, and I am feeling so very grateful to him.

“Mmm, baby doll.” He kneads my hips and ass with his werewolf paws and I can’t help arching and lifting to his touch even though it really does make my knees wail. “I like that. Other foot.”

I turn my head the other way, which hurts my nose as I rub it through the carpet, but I don’t want to head-butt his balls. Then I inch my head over until my face is against his left foot and kiss his instep. He has runner’s feet: gnarled toes and knobby joints and prominent veins. Maybe he’d like it if I rubbed his feet.

He holds me there, rocking slightly, scrunching his balls through my hair, the motion and sound hypnotic against the backdrop of Christina Aguilera’s crooning. My knees are howling by the end of the song and I’m silently promising them that I’ll start yoga classes again the minute I return from the cruise.

Finally, he lifts off me and says, “I’m going to cover my eyes. You have a count of ten to hide the paddle. If I find it within a minute, that’s another ten smacks. If it takes me longer than ten minutes to find it, I’ll take off a smack for every minute. Ready?”

I give his foot a final kiss and stretch before I say, “Yes, Daddy.”

He covers his eyes with his hands and I bounce up on my toes to kiss the backs of his hands before I leap away, run around the room twice as he counts, then stick the paddle back where I’d originally hidden it, smooth the sheet and hop up onto the bed as he finishes counting. I cross my legs and try to look nonchalant as he takes his hands away from his eyes.

He looks me up and down, looks toward the window and purses his mouth while I giggle, “Colder, Daddy.”

He takes one big step to the edge of the bed, reaches down, grabs my ankles and flips me back onto the bed. He grabs the paddle out of its hiding place and slaps it across the backs of my thighs while he holds my ankles in the air.

“No fair!” I screech. “Daddy cheated!”

He whips the paddle back in the other direction and I really do howl then. It stings like I’ve sat in a hornet’s nest.

“Daddy doesn’t cheat,” Logan growls, yanking my ankles higher. “Not ever. What do you say?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” I whimper, stuffing my fists over my mouth. I didn’t mean to accuse him of cheating. I was just surprised he found the paddle so fast.

“That’s ten extra then. I’ll take them like this. Count, Emily.”

His tone jolts me straight out of little-space. I try to lift my head to peer around my legs at him, but he’s holding my ankles so high I can’t see him. I need to see his face. Is he going to punish me when he’s really angry? Is he going to hurt me for real?

“Sir, wait, please, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a cheater. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

Logan tilts his head so I can see his face. He’s frowning and his ears are flushed. “No, you shouldn’t have. I don’t lie and I don’t cheat. And hiding something in the same spot is the oldest trick in the book. I’m not as stupid as I look, either. Now take your ten. Count, Emily.”

Oh, God, I’ve insulted his intelligence! No wonder he’s angry. I feel the hot rush of tears. “Sir, please can we stop? I need to explain.”

“After I’m done,” he says, and