Page 213 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Thank you, sir,” she whispers.
“Thank you, goddess,” I whisper back into her sweetly scented hair. “Did you feel it?”
She nods into my neck. “I did, sir.”
“Good girl. Honor blindfold’s over. You can open your eyes. Can I clean you up a little and then get you a glass of wine?”
She lifts her head and blinks at me. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
“Nope. I like taking care of my bottom afterwards.”
She smiles hazily. “Are you sure you’re not a Daddy Dom?”
“Positive.” I nip her nose. Even her damn nose is impudent. “If you want to call me daddy, I won’t stop you.”
“Not really my style.”
“Sir works just fine.”
“Would god work better?” The corner of her mouth lifts, stretching into that sassy grin. “Because I was loving being called goddess.”
“You are my goddess in scene.”
The grin melts off her face and her eyes slide away.
“Bren, what’s wrong? Is it a religious thing? I’m sorry, I should have asked?—”
She forces a smile. “No, I’m not religious. Can you, uh—?” She jangles one of her wrist cuffs.
“Sure.” I reach up and pop the snaps on one cuff then the other, helping her lower her arms to her side and rubbing each shoulder. Then I untie her ankles, leaving her suspended by just the chest harness. “Now tell me what that was, sweetheart.”
She shrugs. “Just coming down from the high, sir.”
I slip my finger under her chin and lift her face. She meets my eyes, but shadows are edging back into hers.
“Brenna.” I stroke her chin with my thumb. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
She closes her eyes; pink rises in her cheeks. “Sorry, sir.”
“We’ll talk about consequences over a glass of wine, but I need to understand what that was.”
She opens her eyes, full of shadows, and stares at me. There’s my bold, wounded girl. “Next scene, someone else will be your goddess,” she whispers.
Is that what’s hurt her? How does she cope with it if she becomes attached to each Dom who tops her, and they abandon her after a scene? Why would she stay at the club if it’s wounding her over and over?
“We can talk about that over a glass of wine, too, but I can promise you that I’m not rushing off to find my next goddess.” I drop my hand to her chest harness and give it a tug. “Let’s get you out of this. Must be damn itchy by now.”
She looks down as though she’s forgotten she has a twisted mass of coconut fiber around her breasts. She gives me a sheepish grin. “Yes, please, sir.”
Coir rope is cheap, and Logan buys it in bulk, so I grab the quick release blade off the table and cut her out of the harness instead of taking the time to undo all the knots. I fold her to me as she curls off the web and rub my hand up and down her sweaty back while I peer over her shoulder. There are two red spots on her shoulder blades where the knots must have pinched. I’ll put cream on those after I finish cleaning her up.
Even after holding her for several minutes, she seems unsteady on her feet. Well, she did just have two orgasms in quick succession. I back her up a step to the web and lean her into it. “The web’ll support you, sweetheart. Grab hold.”
She gives me a grateful smile and winds her hands into the rope strands.
I grab a packet of wipes and work down. She has a little mascara smeared under her eyes and I blot that off first before continuing down her throat. The hide floggers have left her skin gritty and I clean that off with her sweat. There’s one weal alongher ribs that’s beaded with blood. Probably the braided flogger wrapping since that’s got the nastiest edges. I clean the wound carefully and apply pressure until it’s no longer oozing. I’ll put some antiseptic gel and a light bandage on it once she’s clean.
As I work down her legs, I get a close look at the double barbed-wire strand tattoo winding around her thigh. It’s composed of tiny letters and as I peer at the letters, I realize they’re names. Mostly men’s names. I find Theo’s name among many others I don’t recognize. Thankfully, I don’t see Logan’s. I’m not sure why that would bother me, but I still feel relief. And a pinch of jealousy. I blow out a breath and keep working down to her pretty toes. That’s her past. I can’t be jealous of her past, can I?
