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

“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 it’s not his wolfy growl.

I cover my face with my hands and start to cry, holding myself still for the paddling I’m now desperately afraid of.

I hear him curse softly, then he lowers my legs. He reaches under my shoulders and picks me up. Holding me to his chest in that koala-carry, he turns around and sits on the bed so I’m straddling his lap. He brushes my hair back from my face and wipes my eyes.

“What just happened there?”

“When I’m little, I don’t think in adult,” I wail. “I wasn’t being insulting hiding the paddle in the same place. I thought it was clever.”

“Ah.” Logan’s face goes blank for a second, then he nods to himself and pulls my face into his neck and rubs my back. “Sorry, Emmy. I misunderstood. The things I read . . . well, some of it wasn’t right.”

“Wa-what did you read?”

“Some of what I read made it seem like you’re playing at being a kid, but you still think like an adult. But you’re not, are you?”

“Being little isn’t age play. Not for me.” Please, please let him understand, because I’ve never been good at explaining where my head is at when I let my little out.

“Okay, sweetie. Give me some time to get used to it, okay?”

Time. The male euphemism for, “you’ve fucked it up and I need a way out but we’ve still got nine hours before your train and I’ve got a hard-on.”

I cry harder. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I can be adult. We don’t have to be little and Daddy—”

“Shh.” He hugs me tight. “Shh, Emmy. Relax. I’m not rejecting you, or your little. Shh. I’m just trying to understand where I went wrong.” He strokes my head and cuddles me close. “Can you handle physical discipline when you’re really little?”

What kind of question is that? Of course, I can. Didn’t I prove it last night with the tawse? I hiccup as I try to understand why he’d ask me that. “Yes, sir.”

“Then maybe I don’t understand. Why did you fall apart just then? I felt you switch over. That crying was fucking heart-breaking. I hurt you somehow. It couldn’t have been physical, because those two smacks with the paddle were nothing compared to what I gave you with the tawse. Did I do something that hurt your little? Is that it?”

Now I understand his question. I burrow deeper into him. “I get scared when Daddy’s angry at me for real.”

“Ah, okay.” He rubs my back. “I was angry at you for a minute there. I understand. I’m sorry I scared you. When we’re playing, I need to stay in the game with you. I can do that. Let’s try this again. I’m going to cover my eyes and count to ten and you’re going to hide the paddle again. Not in the same spot, you monkey. Then we’re going to play ‘hotter, colder,’ until Daddy finds the paddle and you’ll get ten with it. Just ten. Is that fair, baby doll?”

He wants to try again? I press my lips into his neck and mouth the words I said into the carpet, then lift my head and say, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. We’re okay, Emmy. Look at me,” He runs his hand up my back, under my hair and cups my nape. I meet his eyes and see the sincerity there. “I told you I don’t always get it right the first time, didn’t I? But I also told you that I always finish a scene. That’s me. I’m not perfect, but I don’t give up. Don’t give up on me, okay?”

I throw my arms around his neck. “Never, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl. Up you come.” He helps me off his lap and hands me the paddle. “Here you go.”

I stand and watch him for a moment, checking for any sign that he’s not into this. I’m not giving up on him, but if Daddy isn’t really where his heart is, I can just be his subbie for a couple of weeks.

Logan winks at me before he puts his hands over his eyes. “One, little monkey. Two, little monkey.”

I race around the room, opening and closing drawers before I finally slip the paddle between the two folded pink towels still sitting on the night-table, smooth them carefully and then climb up on the bed and throw my arms around Logan where he’s still sitting, facing away from me. I smooch him behind the ear. “Ten, Daddy.”

He reaches back and grabs my hips, then stands, hoisting me onto his back. I squeal as he bounces me into position. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I cling to his big shoulders and nuzzle the back of his neck.

“You good there, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I say happily.

“Am I hot or cold?”

“Daddy’s smoking hot, but cold at the moment.”

He reaches back and pinches my sore butt-cheek, eliciting another squeal.

He totes me around on his back while he hunts for the paddle, finding it in much less than ten minutes. For a moment, I’m afraid that he’ll criticize my hiding place again, but he just tosses the paddle in his hand as he slides me off his back and drops me onto the bed.

“On your back, baby doll, knees to your chest, hold on to your calves.”

While I get into position, he slips off his robe and hangs it on