Page 303 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“No, Sir.”
“No? Any interest in going? I usually visit my mother in January or February. She lives down there in the Keys.”
“I’d love to, Sir. I didn’t realize your parents were still alive?”
“Ma is. Pops died more than ten years ago. Lung cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
I wave her condolences away. “He was a two-pack-a-day man. Never could quit. I’m just glad Ma made him smoke outside so she wasn’t affected. She’s remarried now so I keepmy visits short. If you’re up to long rides by then, we could ride down, stay a day or two, and make our way back, stopping wherever you want.”
“I’d love that, Sir.”
I pinch her chin. “Anywhere else you’d like to go, you just tell me, girl.”
“Paris. I know it’s cheesy. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“So cheesy.”
She grins. “Green-cheese cheesy.”
“How does May sound?”
She sighs. “Perfect.”
“Mmm, you ready to shower, girl?”
“Yes, Sir.” She sits up and rolls slowly to her feet and I follow her out to where we’ve hung our robes on hooks outside the steam room. “Do you mind if I wear the robe to lunch? I’m too relaxed to get dressed.”
“That sounds good. I might do the same.” I give her gleaming breasts an appreciative leer before she covers them with terrycloth. “I like the easy access.”
“Me, too, Sir.” She reaches into my open robe and runs her hand down between my pecs. “There weren’t any rules about me touching you.”
“Nope, there weren’t,” I agree.
“So, I can touch you any time?”
“Any time you want to take the risk, bold girl, you go for it.”
She gives me that warm, alto laugh.
Showered and in our robes, we join a dozen people at a huge oval table in the club’s restaurant. Today it’s even busier than yesterday and there’s a scene going on at the far end of the big greenhouse annex, with a pair of ponies in full regalia being bred. Our table has a good view of the scene and I’m surprised it doesn’t stir more interest in me, but the flashes of Bren’scolorful skin through the open front of her robe are what hold my attention.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’d rather be eating you. You look fucking edible.”
She freezes for a second in the middle of a mouthful of tomato and mozzarella salad before shooting me a grin. “Totally up for that, Sir.”
“Plan on that for dessert, girl.”
“Yes, Sir. Could I have you for an entrée instead of this?” She pushes a pile of chicken wings around on her plate with her fork.
“Here, now?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Not against the rules?”
Although I’ve seen subs displayed on tables before, the pony scene is the first sex I’ve seen inside the restaurant, and its partitioned off from the dining area by a good ten feet of clear space.
