Page 317 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
That catches me off-guard. “Tell me your little did not set me and Bren up.”
“I could, but it’d be a lie. Pretty sure she began planning it during our collaring ceremony. She mentioned being disappointed you didn’t notice Bren. You should’ve seen how fast she pounced when you mentioned you wanted to cover your mermaid.”
“That little?—”
“Monkey. I know. She thinks up happy endings for a living. Matchmaking’s live-action roleplay for her.”
“I’m not sure if I should be annoyed or amused.”
“Go with amused. She’s only got her friend’s best interests at heart. Otherwise, I’d paddle her for you.”
“Paddle her anyway.”
“Oh, I will.” He grins as he turns to head down the hallway to the master bedroom. “Just not as hard.”
I slip back into the bedroom and begin shedding the sweats I put on. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bren’s slender hand flip back the bedsheets.
“Sorry if I woke you, sweetheart,” I whisper.
“I’m not.” She pats the mattress. “I’ve been a bad, bad subbie, Sir.”
Her sultry tone tells me this is play, but since there’s almost always a thread of truth in every joke, I keep my tone serious when I answer her.
“Have you, now? What have you done wrong, bad subbie?”
“I’m supposed to offer you my ass before bed every night, Sir. I didn’t do that tonight.”
“Or last night,” I say, putting a knee on the bed and smiling down at her. Her teeth flash in the dim light through the curtains as she grins back at me.
“I didn’t offer last night, Sir?”
“Not that I remember.”
The gleam of her teeth widens. “Early onset dementia. It’s a thing.”
“Not my thing, girl. Try again.”
“Okay, so I didn’t offer last night, either. Awesomely bad subbie. You should funish me, Sir. With something other than an essay. Because that is not a funishment.”
“Wasn’t intended to be, girl. But now a funishment’s in order. Off the bed. On the floor.”
She slithers out of the covers and off the bed, long, pale limbs gleaming in the faint light that washes her tattoos to gray and throws the black line of her collar into high relief. She settles on her knees, in the position I’ve taught her. I cup her chin in my hand and praise her.
“I’m pleased with you, girl. Before we start, tell me how your body’s feeling?”
Asking gives me a moment to assess her. She’s moving easily, no sign her leg’s bothering her or she’s too sore for more play, although I’m guessing her kitty and sphincter are more than tender.
“Good, Sir. Thighs are still hot.”
Not surprising, given how much I lit them up.
“And your headspace?”
“Good, Sir. Thank you for everything tonight.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t bring any of it into our scene, girl. Focus just on me. Who am I?”
“My Sir,” she says, her voice dropping to a soft husk.
