Page 302 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Okay, try it again,” she says.
I drop my left hand a fraction at a time until I’m no longer touching her. As soon as she feels unsupported, despite the fact she’s floating on her own, she thrashes and grabs my arm. I let her hold it for a minute and then count down.
It takes her three tries, but she finally floats on her own, without any support, without grabbing my arm. I let her float for ten minutes, to really get used to the sensation, before I call an end to the lesson.
She stands up in the chest-high water, looking faintly disappointed. “But I didn’t swim, Sir. Not even dog paddle.”
“You won’t swim next lesson, either. This is about getting you comfortable and confident in the water. Learning the strokes will come a lot easier if you know down in your bones that you’re not going to sink.”
She brightens and follows me to a set of stairs up onto a platform that’s styled like a Grecian temple. I pick up our towels off the lounger and dry her off, then wrap her in one of the club’s robes before leading her around to the tiki grotto which has been commandeered by Logan, Max, their friend Warrin, and a cluster of littles who are currently playing with a huge beach ball. I drop down onto a deep cushion next to Logan and draw Bren into my lap.
“You still not allowed in the water?” I ask Logan, nodding at the other two daddies who are splashing and playing with their littles.
“Doctors want me to avoid immersion for another two weeks,” Logan grouses.
His head injury over the summer has prevented him from doing a large number of things, including flying to London to be at his daughter’s birth. But the limitations are falling like dominoes as he recovers. Immersion and running with me have to be some of the last hurdles.
“That’s not too long,” I commiserate.
Logan’s dark eyes follow his little as she shrieks with laughter after getting a face-full of the soft ball. “I resent every second I don’t get to play with her.”
I snort. “You’re such a daddy. Who’d a thought, the big, bad sadist.”
“Wanker,” Logan mutters.
Bren shifts in my lap and I hear her stomach rumble. Between the kickboxing, a long fuck, and the swimming lesson, those pancakes are no longer filling my hole, either.
“Lunch next?” I ask Logan.
“Yeah.” He holds up his phone, which has a timer counting down. “I was going to give them five more minutes and then call everyone out so they can shower and dress for lunch. You happy with the club buffet again or do you want to venture out.”
“Club buffet works for me. You happy with that, girl?”
She tips her head back to smile at me. “Yes, Sir. I’ve got the hot sauce at the ready.”
I reach into the gap in her robe and tweak her nipple. Grin at her squeak of protest. “Careful, girl. I’m in the mood for another round with that sore sphincter and I’m happy to use hot sauce for lube.”
She gulps and turns around to watch the people in the pool.
“You mind if I invite a few people to join us?” Logan asks, thumbing over to a new screen on his phone. “Couple more members of the management committee it would be a good idea for you to meet.”
“Sure, anyone you want.”
“Good.”
Logan gets busy with his phone.
“Girl, can I tempt you with five minutes in the sauna while Logan wrangles his herd of littles?”
“Yes, Sir.”
She climbs off my lap and helps me out of the deep cushion when my knee protests. I sling my arm over her shoulders as we walk out of the tiki area and follow the pool’s curve around toward the jacuzzi and steam rooms. The smell of hot cedar drowns the faint chlorine scent from the pool, and I take a deep breath to savor it. I might be slightly uncomfortable at Logan’s fancy club, but it does have its fucking perks.
The first steam room is already occupied with a threesome writhing all over the benches. Bren and I exchange glances and without further discussion move to the next door. I’ll give them points for bravery but it’s too hot to fuck in a sauna.
The next room has a couple in it, but they’re lying on the top tier of benches, not speaking, not touching each other. I guide Bren inside, park my ass on the hot wood and gesture Bren down beside me. I turn her so she’s lying on the bench with her head in my lap.
“Reminds me of the cypress groves in Florida,” I tell Bren in a low tone. “They bake in the sun. Smell like this. You ever been to Florida?”
