Page 192 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Oh,” she breathes. “Even during punishments?”
“Yes. Always. We’d need to do some very long and hard negotiation before I’d feel comfortable with you giving up your safe words.”
“Okay. Thank you, sir. That makes me feel better.”
“Good. About that kiss?”
“Yes, definitely.”
I stand and draw her up against me so I can enjoy the press of her body while I’m kissing her. I take her mouth the same way I intend to take every other part of her body: a seduction, until she gives me her submission. A tease of lips. A flick of tongue to taste the lingering flavors of her mouth.
Once she opens to me, I demand. Pressing my mouth to hers with enough pressure to bruise those pouty lips. Sucking her lower lip into my mouth and biting lightly. Sliding my tongue against the plush of her lips, the sharp edge of her teeth. She’s soft against me from the moment I take her in my arms, but as I deepen the kiss, her body melts against mine, more and more of her weight resting against my chest and thighs. I push my knee between hers and she spreads her legs as wide as her skirt allows. Letting me in.
I shift her into my right arm so I can bend her backwards, taking more of her weight, taking the kiss even deeper. Her fingers knead at my shoulders, but she doesn’t try to wrap herarms around me. Has she been trained not to clutch at her Dom, or does she trust me enough already not to let her fall?
I take her mouth until she’s shaking against me, panting into my mouth. When I finally lift my head, she blinks smoky, glazed eyes at me for several seconds until she comes back to herself.
“Sir,” she whispers.
I dip my head and take another, briefer taste of her mouth, while she pulls herself back together.
“Good girl,” I say against her lips. “I’ve enjoyed lunch today. And I can’t wait for our scene tomorrow.”
She nods shakily.
“Put your arms around me and relax for a minute, then I’ll let you go.”
I draw her back upright and hold her until she’s steady on her feet. I want her needy, but not so shaky she can’t function. She’s heading into work and I won’t do anything to undermine her business.
I stroke her back until her trembling subsides, enjoying the warmth and soft press of her breasts against me. My cock throbs between us like a rotten tooth. Fucking her is the only relief for that ache. But I can wait. There’s such an underlying sweetness to this girl. Rushing claiming that sweetness would be a crime.
When she’s steady and her breathing is close to normal, I kiss her forehead and release her. We make small talk as she collects her bag and I help her into her leather jacket. She pauses at the front door and looks up at me, eyes gleaming with need, but also with a touch of sass. Everything I’ve ever disliked about sammies goes right out the window with that look. Fuck, all I want to do is drag her into the basement now. I control my impulses, and my dick, and make do with kissing her breathless again before I let her leave.
Then I switch over the soft classical music I’ve had playing through our lunch to Black Sabbath, strip down to a T-shirtand my boxers, and pummel Logan’s punching bag until I’m dripping and drained of the need to chase after Brenna, toss her onto her tattoo station, and find out if she really likes anal as much as Emily claims.
This girl’s going to be the death of me, and we haven’t even done a scene yet.
three
BRENNA
“It’s a religious symbol too, yannow,”the skinny skinhead on the other side of the counter grumbles as he hitches up his sagging jeans. Again. “You can’t refuse to put a religious symbol on me. That’s discrimination.”
I point at the sign displayed on the far side of the counter, right under the punk’s nose, with the digital pencil I’m using to shade in the third of the sketches I’ve done for Mac’s mermaid. I had them ready for lunch, but since he’s given me more time to work on them, I’m adding detail. I want to wow him, and I know it’s not just pride in my work that’s driving me. I want to impress the pants off the man. I want to see it shining in those blue, blue eyes: how much he thinks of me as an artist and a submissive and a woman. He makes me feel like a pre-teen again with how desperate I am for his approval.
Because I’m a total dumbass who needs the approval of a man she just met.
Doesn’t stop me from adding another lacy fin to the mermaid’s tail.
“We reserve the right to refuse any design. No racist slogans,” I tell the skinhead, just in case he can’t read the sign. “Try Shameless Studios on East Eleventh.” When the kid doesn’t leave, I say, “We’re closing in fifteen minutes, so if you want something else, you’ll need to come back tomorrow.”
He grunts. “My bro Derrick said his only took ten.”
I sigh. My back’s hurting from leaning on the counter. My feet are hurting from the heels I stupidly wore to lunch and then worked in for six hours. And this kid is working my last nerve with his demand for a swastika fifteen minutes before we close. He already has some ink, including M-O-V-E O-N tattooed across his knuckles in such weird, scratchy lettering that I could believe he did it himself. Since his tattoos look homemade, I’ll still have to card him before I even get him to do the questionnaire, and that will take longer than fifteen minutes on its own.
“He didn’t get a swastika from here. We don’t do them. Before we can do any tattoo, you’d need to complete a questionnaire and provide ID. There’s no way we’re doing that in fifteen minutes. I’ll make an appointment for you if you want to come back tomorrow.”
The punk pushes his lower lip out. He actually fucking pouts. A petulant neo-Nazi. “I want to speak to the manager.”
