Page 218 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“For me, too, Bren. I haven’t done anything like this in a decade. Last person I topped full time tore my damn heart into pieces. But it’s what I’ve wanted since you agreed to scene with me. We don’t need to put any labels on it. I’m not going to call you my slave and I don’t want you to call me Master. Let’s just take it a day at a time and see how we go. If it’s feeling good after the weekend, we could try putting it in writing.”
He’s offering me a contract? I swallow hard against the prickle in my throat, and there go my eyes again.
“I’d really like that, sir. I’ve had short contracts before.”
“How’d you feel about them?”
“Good.” Until they weren’t renewed. Then really shitty. But that’s TMI. “I still have a couple of them on my phone if you’d like me to forward them to you to look at.”
“Please do.” He strokes the nape of my neck and smiles into my eyes. “Let’s get breakfast going before Logan beats us to it. You doing okay now?”
So, he noticed I wasn’t okay when I got up. And he caught me when I lied to him last night. Mac doesn’t miss much.
“Yes, sir.”
When I join him in the kitchen after cleaning up, he’s set out pancake ingredients on the counter for me and is peeling oranges and putting the sections in a bowl. Fresh oranges—juice or fruit—are kind of a breakfast tradition at Logan’s and I see Mac’s well-versed in that tradition.
I offer Mac the plug and bottle of lube I’ve brought down with me. I’m not exactly looking forward to being plugged. My ass is a little tender from wearing the big plug yesterday, especially during the scene when I was squeezing down on it. But I’m not exactly unhappy about it, either. It’s a weird mix of anticipation and dismay that makes me edgy.
Instead of plugging me right away, Mac lays the plug and lube down on the counter and tips his head at the flour, sugar, eggs, and milk he’s laid out for me. Is he picking up on my ambivalence? Or does he just want to get the oranges peeled before he does anything unhygienic?
Grabbing what might be a short reprieve, I begin mixing the pancake ingredients, slipping over to the cupboards for Bebe J’s secret ingredients of nutmeg and cinnamon. Since Mac seems relaxed and focused on his oranges, I take the opportunity to ask about something that’s been dancing from foot to foot at the edge of my consciousness since last night.
“Sir, I’m just wondering what the consequences are, for not being truthful with you last night?”
Mac gives me a bright blue side-eye. “What do you think the consequences should be?”
“The Delrin, I’m guessing.”
“Will the Delrin teach you your lesson?”
I swallow around a lump in my throat. Getting hit with a Delrin rod is a pretty damn big deal. I won’t be able to sit comfortably for at least a day. “Uh, yes, sir?”
“Lying’s the cardinal sin, Bren. How can I top you if you’re not truthful with me?”
My stomach drops. Why did a Dom of my own seem like a good idea? Ten and the other Blunts Doms probably wouldn’t even have noticed my evasion last night or called me on it if they did. But Emily can’t get away with a single fucking thing; Logan even notices when she’s too quiet. Do I really want that to be me? Twenty-four-seven with some fucking mind-reading Dom who knows when I’m being evasive because I’m feeling vulnerable? When I’m quiet because I’m upset? I must be out of my mind.
“Sorry, sir. I know honesty’s important. I’m just?—”
“Scared of being vulnerable?”
Fucking. Mind-reading. Dom.
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”
“Look at me,” Mac says softly. When my eyes snap to his, he smiles. “Consequences are that you have to keep a diary of every time between now and Friday that you feel worried, insecure, or vulnerable and turn it over to me when you next see me. You can text it to me if you’d rather, but I want it in writing. We will be discussing it.”
Fuck.
“Couldn’t I just have the Delrin?”
Mac chuckles. “No.”
“Is this the kind of thing I should expect? As consequences?”
“Maybe.” Mac shrugs. “I’m an equal-opportunity punisher. If this works, I’ll use it. If the Delrin works, I’ll use that.”
“Whatever works?” Even to my own ears, it comes out snippy and I clear my throat, worried I’ve gone too far.
