Page 168 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
He’s right. I’ve felt it. It’s being present and completely in the moment and yet above everything except this one other person who is your whole world. It’s sweat and adrenaline and every basic, primal urge. It’s the highest, deepest, purest thought. It’s that constant, curling, suspended moment right before orgasm. It’s the utter relaxation and surety and relief of the moment right after. It’s everything, and the moment it’s over, all I want is more, more, more.
A lifetime of it, which is what I want with the woman sleeping in the cage under my bed.
“It’s hard to articulate.”
“I just managed it.”
I snort at him.
“Go climb into that cage with your girl, Maxie. It’s late. You’ve had a long couple of days. Turn off your phones. Call it a night. The dragons will be there to slay tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Thank you, man.”
“I want a better hug on Tuesday.”
“You’re not getting one. You’re not huggable. But I’ll get you a nice bottle of booze.”
“Don Julio Seventy Cristalino.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Tequila. They sell it at the specialty liquor store on Broadway, Fulton Center.”
“You checked?”
“I checked. I figured you’d owe me a bottle sooner or later. G’night, Maxie. You need another kick in the ass between now and Tuesday, you call me.”
“You’re still a pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, but you like anal, so take it, mate, take it.”
He hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone, shaking my head.
I put all my phones on the charging pad and silence them, but set emergency alerts for Logan, Manny, Mac, Ty, and, after a moment’s deliberation, De Leon.
Then I set my security and climb the stairs into my loft.
I stand for a minute in the doorway into my bedroom, soaking in the scene. Cynnie’s curled in the middle of her hive, naked under one of the soft, fleece blankets after I gave her a bath before putting her to bed. Her hair is spread in an inky cloud over the pillows. She’s holding one of the bigger buzzies, with several more right at hand if their queen needs them. Her face is relaxed. No tear-streaks on her cheeks; no crystal glitter on her lashes. My bumble is safe and happy in the space I’ve made for her.
Something pinches at my heart. Understanding. Sympathy. Logan must watch Emily like this. He must feel the same things I’m feeling. What he’s tried to do is inhuman, impossible. But I understand the urge.
If Cynnie’s brother or grandmother shows up at my door tomorrow morning, what will I do? Will I let them into Cynnie’s safe space the way Logan let Miranda in? Will I let them confront her, claw at her with their words, threaten her the way Miranda did Emily? Am I helping Cynnie get past tonight and start repairing her relationships with her family if I let them in, or am I helping them hurt her?
The pinch twists as I understand Logan’s dilemma better than ever before.
I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what I’ll do if Cynnie’s family shows up. I know that, for tonight, I’ve created the safe space she needs to retreat and regroup. Tomorrow? All I can do is take it as it comes. I can ask Cynnie what she wants. I can make sure I understand what she needs. And I can throw all my considerable resources and skills at making sure she gets it.
I reach into the hive and rub Cynnie’s calf until she wakes. Blinking, she sits up and looks at me. “Oppa?”
“Can I come in, baby?”
“Yeth-yeth.” She holds her hands out to me.
I climb into the hive, pushing buzzies out of my way in a striped tidal wave, until I can curl around her.
“Iz late?” she asks as I stretch out. “I sleeps for a long time?”
“It’s a little after one. You slept for about two hours.”
