Page 275 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Since that wasn’t your safeword, I’ll take it as a yes. Go up and get the leash.” He taps a finger under my chin. “Before you argue, I know you have one. I saw it in your nightstand.”
He’s right, I do. “Yes, Sir.”
“You can keep it in your pocket until we get outside. Then hand it to me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He kisses me on the temple and releases me. I try to walk steadily through the shop and down the hall, but my insides are squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. I’m raw, but I need something to work against. I’m so empty.
As I’m climbing the stairs, my phone buzzes. I fumble it out as I open the door.
Put in a plug you can walk in. You have permission to use lube.
Fucking. Mind-reading. Dom.
Walking with a plug, on a leash, around the East Village on a cool, sunny day in late October, should suck.
It doesn’t.
Mac’s casual about the leash, keeping it looped around his wrist as he rests his arm over my shoulders. The leash trails up the open edge of my jacket, neither obvious nor subtle. It gets a few curious glances but not even a raised eyebrow from anyone we pass. Since he’s not pulling on the leash, I can settle into his stride. Mac’s taller than me and a lot of his height is in his legs, but he’s moving at a relaxed pace, giving me plenty of time to stop and take pictures on my phone when something catches my eye. The plug’s a steady weight in my ass as we walk, sending my nerves spiraling with each step. I’m hovering around the edge of subspace with how relaxed and buoyant I feel, but I’m still alert and focused.
Definitely the best walk I’ve ever been on.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, bold girl?” he asks after I take a picture of a graffiti mural.
“See the colors there?” I point out the mural’s flowing blue and orange against the rigid lines of a metal fire escape. “That’s what I want. It’s, I don’t know, the combination speaks to me.”
Mac tips his head, looking at the mural. “I think you probably see the world differently than I do.”
“What do you see?”
“I see graffiti of some guys in sombreros.”
I laugh. “That’s what I see, too, Sir. But I also see things I want to use in a design—color, shape, texture.”
“You see it as something you can turn into something else. I see it as it is. Yours is probably a nicer way of looking at the world.”
I tip my head onto his shoulder and slow my steps. “Do you think so, Sir?”
“Your way of seeing being transformative? Absolutely. And I’m looking forward to wearing some of that art. What wasn’t working for you when you were working up that lady’s tattoo?”
I shrug and fit myself into his side as we walk down Avenue A. “I kept wanting to add nature back into the cityscape, you know, as a juxtaposition? And not just nature-nature. I want to add fairies and goblins and maybe a troll hiding in the shadow of a building. Totally not what that poor woman asked for. I just felt like it fit her better.”
Mac kisses my temple. “When I scene with you, I’m not just focused on what you want. I’m focused on what you need. What you’re telling me without telling me. Maybe that’s what you tapped into with that lady?”
“Maybe.” I feel a certainty tightening in my belly. It solidifies out of the comfort I’ve taken in being with my Sir. The way everything in me has settled from the moment he clipped his leash to my collar. “I’m going to do one design with the mythical elements. One realistic and contemporary. And one kind of Victorian. I can pull up pictures of what this area looked like from the internet. Maybe have a steampunk feel to it.”
Mac smiles down at me. “I love the way your mind works, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You never told me what you came back to go to school for. Was it art?”
“No.” I shake my head, remembering. “Business. I didn’t see a way to make a living with my art until I met Rufus.”
“Rufus?”
“He’s the guy who had the shop before me. He trained me and when he wanted to retire, I bought the shop off him.”
