Page 345 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“You’re nice,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “I’ll remind you of that the next time I’m beating your ass.” He holds out his hand and when I take it, helps me out of the tub and wraps me in the towel. Once I’m swaddled in what feels like miles of towel, he drapes the big bathrobe over my shoulders and hands me a steaming cup of cocoa.
“Sip it while I take care of the tub,” he tells me.
The hot chocolate’s sickly sweet and I make a face at the sugar overload but dutifully sip as Mac drains the tub and slips his T-shirt and sweatshirt back on.
“You should leave those off,” I say. “In fact, you should always leave your shirt off. If subbies have to be naked, I think there should be a no-shirts-in-the-house rule for Doms.”
“Think so, huh?” Since I do, I nod. Mac tugs on my nose-ring but he’s grinning. “How’s the hot chocolate?”
“Kind of gross. Too much sugar. But please don’t tell Emily. I don’t want to upset her.”
Mac runs his hand over my hair, which isn’t wet. Why isn’t it wet? Oh, he tied it up before he put me in the tub. He’s so nice.
“You’re a good friend to her, sweetheart. You’re good to me, too. Did you not want to upset me? Is that why you hesitated to tell me what happened?”
Now that it’s out, I feel stupid for not immediately telling him. For using Kru as a shield against his judgment.
“I’m not a victim,” I say. “Kru said I have the heart of a tiger.”
“You do. You’re my bold girl. My warrior goddess. Did you think I’d think you were a victim?”
I nod, not ready to put it into words.
“Have people called you a victim before?”
I nod, remembering the rancid pity in the eyes of teachers, social workers, even cops, when they talked about me.
“Bet those three assholes don’t think you’re a victim,” Mac says.
I force a laugh around another sickly-sweet mouthful.
“And I would never think my bold girl is a victim,” Mac says, his voice deep and gentle. “I wish you hadn’t had to defend yourself, but I’m very proud of you for being strong and brave and trained enough to do so.”
“Thank you, Sir. Sir, can I please pour the rest of this out? It’s so nasty.”
Mac chuckles and takes the cup from me. He takes a sip, makes a face, and pours the rest down the sink.
“Everyone’s waiting on me for lunch, aren’t they?”
Mac takes the lapels of the bathrobe he’s draped around me and pulls me to him gently. “You ready to be held, girl?”
Am I ever.
“Always, Sir.”
“I don’t want you to worry about lunch or dinner or anything else. We’ll all get something to eat. You focus on you. How are you feeling now? Are you hurting anywhere?”
“My back and ribs hurt, Sir. I don’t think any of them hit me, though.”
“Probably just the way you were holding yourself and using those muscles without any warmup. Let’s get some food in you and then I’ll rub you down. See if we can’t work some knots out.”
I nod, resting my face against his collar and breathing in his warm Mac-smell.
“How do you feel about painkillers, girl?”
“Not a fan, Sir. I was on them for so long because of my hip. It took me a long time to come off them. Now I try not to take them unless I absolutely have to.”
