Page 312 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
I kneel, shuddering. “Fuck you, Sir,” I hiss under my breath. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
“Get it out, girl,” Mac says before reaching forward and stroking my bent head. “Get it all out. You hate me, right?”
At the moment, I almost do. I don’t say it, because when I do, it’s a joke. This isn’t a joke. This is so unfunny it isn’t true.
“Anything else?” he asks.
“No,” I growl.
“Uh-huh. Look at me, bold girl.”
I lift my eyes and meet his. The icy flare of anger has faded to warmth. I swallow and feel the rising panic wash out of me. Under those intense blue eyes, I settle, like a pond as the ripples of a stone’s throw fade. My shoulders drop as the tension washes out of my muscles. The pounding in my ears fades. Mac slips his hand under my chin and holds my eyes.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
I nod reluctantly.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
“A client came in wanting a portrait. Nicky went to pull the design out of my sketch book but the book’s gone. He can’t find it anywhere.” I bite my lip as a surge of panic swells up from my belly again. “And you’re going to tell me it’s my own fault for the shop security not being tight enough.”
“No, I’m not. I’d never throw something like that in your face when you’re in the middle of a crisis, girl, and I’m disappointed you’d think I would.”
My chin quivers against his palm. Fuck it, I’m not going to cry over this.
“Sorry, Sir.”
“First we’re going to get you back in control. Second, we’re going to deal with this design so Nicky can do the tattoo. Then we’re going to address your punishment. Any questions?”
My whole body’s quivering. This feels so unfair. I shouldn’t have to deal with this when shit is falling apart at my business.
“Brenna, any questions?”
I grab hold of my lady balls and try to pull it together. My hold’s shaky. Like every damn muscle in my body.
“No, Sir,” I grit.
“Good. Up over my knees.”
Now’s the time to tell him to fuck off. To use my safe word like I did with Ten and walk away from all assholes who think they can control every aspect of my life. But I can’t bring myself to open my mouth. Mac’s my Sir. The Dom I’ve wanted. And I respect him, I really do, when he’s not being an asshole about my business.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan herd everyone else out of the room. The hallway door closes behind them. At least I’m not going to have to do this in front of an audience.
Grudgingly, I haul myself up and over Mac’s knees.
“Wrists,” he says.
With as much grace as lobbing a bag of trash, I throw my hands into the small of my back.
Chuckling, Mac closes his hand over my wrists. “I’m not accepting yellow for this, but I will honor red. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I hiss. “Are you trying to push me into saying it?”
“No, Bren. Let me help you.”
“This is not helping me!” I snap.
“Uh-huh. Toes on the floor, pointing in. There’s no count. We’re done when I say we’re done.”
