Page 217 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Sorry, sir?—”
Mac smiles and shakes his head. “How ‘bout we surprise Logan and Emily by making breakfast, as a thank you for using their playroom last night?”
“That’s a great idea. Really nice of you, sir.”
Mac’s smile twists, probably berating himself for passing up the hand job, but he snaps my ass again with the towel. “Up you come, girl. I want some more of the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.”
That gets me moving. He deserves Bebe J’s pancakes after last night. Mac offers me the T-shirt I turned down last night, which I shrug over my head. The fabric is soft against my still-sore skin and smells very faintly like Mac.
“Not a Black Sabbath shirt,” I observe, holding out the hem with my fingertips. It’s a grey shirt with a Navy crest over the breast pocket.
“My concert shirts are sacred, girl. You have to earn the right to wear them. Much harder than earning sex.”
That draws a laugh out of me. “If I make maple bacon to go with the pancakes does that earn me concert shirt privileges?”
“The best maple bacon I’ve ever tasted?” Mac waggles his eyebrows at me.
“You know it, sir.”
“I’ll hold you to that. You need a moment in the bathroom?”
“Please, sir.” I swallow a lump that tastes like guilt, remembering last night. “I should have asked before we went to sleep if I need permission for that.”
Mac rubs his hand over his mouth, then holds out his hand and when I take it, guides me to the edge of the bed and sits next to me. “Real talk for a minute.”
Fuck, that seems ominous.
“I would very, very, very much like to control you like that,” he says. “When we’re together, can you give me that much control? It’s not practical when we’re apart, I realize?—”
“There are these things called phones, sir. They even do video.”
“Your mouth, girl,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Real talk?” I ask. When he nods, I grab my lady balls and push on. “It’s going to be a serious challenge for me to give you that much control. I don’t do this twenty-four-seven, Mac. I’m not a slave. I have my own life and I like my independence. I don’t ask for permission to pee or sit on the furniture. I go to the club, I do scenes, I get fucked, and I go home. I don’t usually sleep with my Doms.” I take a deep breath. “But I’ll try. If you want that kind of control, I’ll try. Because I loved having lunch with you, and I love that you want to take me riding on your motorcycle, and the scene last night gave me hope again?—”
I break off when I feel a hot prickle in my eyes. Am I crying? I don’t cry. Not over something as stupid as this. I tug my hand out of his and wipe my face quickly.
Mac waits until I lower my hands before pulling me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, tucks my face into his neck, and hugs me tight.
“Thank you for agreeing to try. I know it seems like it’s all or nothing with me. I promise you I’m more flexible than that. If something’s not working for you, we’ll figure something else out. You still get the lunches, and the motorcycle rides, and the scenes. I won’t take those away, Bren.”
“But you’d like to try this full-time?”
“Yeah, I would. Let’s limit it for now to when we’re together. After the weekend, we can talk about it and see where we are. You can even show me how to use these new-fangled phone things.”
I laugh into the warm hollow of his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, sir. Old dog, new tricks, you know.”
“There’s my bold girl. Now, you have permission to go to the bathroom, clean yourself up, and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. You need to be anywhere this morning?”
“No, sir. I don’t start until one today.”
“Good. Bring me your plug and some lube when you come downstairs. When you’re with me today, you’re plugged. I’ll take it out before you leave, and we’ll discuss when you wear it between now and Friday.”
I can’t control the hot shiver that runs through me. “Yes, sir.”
He shifts to kiss me on the forehead. “This is a little scary, huh?”
“More than a little,” I admit.
