Page 354 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Yes, Sir.”
It takes me less time to fire up the coffee machine than it does for him to finish the bacon, so I have time to get fidgety as I wait for him in the bathroom. He’s wiping his hands when he walks in and closes the door behind him. He takes a hand towel off the rack next to the sink and tosses it on the floor.
“Get on your knees and offer me your mouth, girl.”
His face is inscrutable. None of the softness of yesterday. His eyes are a hot, August blue, but there’s not much warmth in them. I can’t get a read on his mood and it makes me jittery as I get down on my knees, letting my gratitude for the towel to soften the tile show in my face, and open my mouth.
He doesn’t give me much time to lick and suck him before he’s going down my throat. He pins my head between his hard abdomen and the sink, his hand cupping the back of my neck so I’m not whacking against the quartz countertop with each thrust. Despite that consideration, he doesn’t take it easy on me, fucking my face until the tears run down my cheeks and I’m fighting what little gag reflex I still have. He doesn’t draw it out—this is just pure domination, although his groans tell me he’s enjoying it—and comes in my mouth in under five minutes. He pulls out as he comes so I get a musky mouthful that stings my sinuses and have to slurp to keep it from dribbling out of the corners of my mouth.
“Hold it in your mouth and let me see,” Mac pants, shifting his hand so he’s cupping my chin. He’s held my eyes throughout the blow job and I’m still not sure what’s going on behind his. He looks almost angry.
Whatever his mood, his domination is doing it for me. I hang from his hand, a submissive puddle, my mouth open and my tongue cupped to keep his jism from spilling. He finally nods and I swallow gratefully.
“Real talk, girl.”
I swallow hard for a different reason. “Yes, Sir?”
“I heard what you said after we fucked.”
“Yes, Sir.” My stomach is in freaking free-fall. If I thought waking up alone and feeling like an idiot was bad, this is a thousand times worse.
“Do you need me to say those words?”
“I—uh.” I’dlikehim to. If he means them. If he feels them. Not if he doesn’t, of course. And if he doesn’t, then I need to stop saying them. “I’m guessing you don’t want to, Sir?”
I phrase it as a question. Maybe if he doesn’t feel pressured?—
“No, Bren. Do you understand why?”
I thought my heart cracked over Naomi but I didn’t know how deep and wide the chasm in my heart could be. The Marianas fucking Trench opens in my chest. I might have been a little muddled and vulnerable last night, but I meant what I said. I haven’t told a man I loved him since Edz and at least he said it back. I haven’t said it since. Not to Ten; not to Rob; not to a single person who has topped or fucked me. Now I find my Sir and he doesn’t reciprocate my damn feelings? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Mac’s eyes harden even further. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I’m on my knees with my head pressed against the sink cabinet and my mouth still full of the taste of his come and his wet dick hanging six inches from my face. What the hell does he think I’m doing?
“Don’t pull back from me. I’m not rejecting you, girl.”
He’s not? Because it sure as fuck feels like rejection. It stings and seers and rips just like every other rejection I’ve ever felt only this is deeper because I fucking let him in when I never let anyone in and this isexactlywhy.
“Talk to me, Bren,” he says. “Is this a big thing for you?”
Is it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it a big thing for everyone?
“Are you—are you still in love with Amy?” I force out.
“No,” he says slowly. “She killed those feelings long ago. But those words are reserved in my mind for my wife and daughter.”
A tear spills before I can blink and I dash it away with the back of my hand, which reminds me of the bruises decorating my knuckles. Idiot. I take a deep breath. Shiny, shiny, shiny Brenna. He’ll never tell me he loves me. So what?
“Okay, Sir. I understand.”
“Do you?”
I square my shoulders and when he doesn’t stop me, push up off the floor, grabbing the towel as I rise, dusting it off, and hanging it back on the rail. “I do, Sir. It’s fine.”
Mac’s eyes narrow. “Nothing any woman’s called fine actually was.”
“This is,” I say firmly. “I hope me saying it last night didn’t freak you out.”
